I’m so happy that the Glenn Dispenser (as dubbed by A-Ron) is a hit! (Above is a close-up of the clown head’s mouth, where all the fun is.) It makes me laugh to hear my work friends asking each other, “Which Glenn did you get??” And when Lee found out George got the coveted Juggalo Glenn, he whined, “George always gets the good Glenns!

”

I added a bunch more Glenns to the mix today, including Rainbow Brite Glenn, Swoop-era Bieber Glenn, Furry Glenn, and “Carrie” Glenn.

Today, Glenn’s prize capsule contained a fortune.

“Wow. How deep,” he mumbled after reading it, but really I think he was disappointed that he didn’t get a Himself.

;

Finally, we got the approval to decorate for Halloween again this year! I’ve known since last October what I was going to do this year.

Last year’s was so graphic and murder-y, so I decided to go a different route: clowns. It seems like most of the department are coulrophobic! And it just so happens I have a few clowns in my collection.

Henry and I had a huge fight about the fabric. I’m sorry but fabric stores are gross! I didn’t want to be there at all, and I threw a massive fit about how ridiculous it was that I couldn’t find striped fabric.

“You only looked in one rack!” Henry cried, whic prompted me to scathe, “Oh, don’t you talk to me that way!

” and storm out of the store. Sunday was a fabulous day!

(Obviously, I sent him back out for the fabric.)

(The randomly jutting clown shoe scares Brad.)

So, one of the first components I began working on last week was defacing pictures of Glenn.

Watching me turn Glenn into a Juggalo, Lee asked, “What started your beef with Glenn, anyway?”

This gave me pause. You know, I can’t be certain exactly what happened, but I know that he sassed me one time. And for that, he will forever be my joke-pony.

Anyway, the seedling of my idea was to get a bunch of those prize machine capsules and fill it with candy and a picture of Glenn (collect them all!).

Crooked Cop Glenn!

Stripper Glenn!

I also made a bunch of department-centric fortunes. My favorite is: Never underestimate the power of a Barb Riley Nastygram.

So I did all of these things, ordered those plastic vending capsules in bulk, and then thought to myself, “WTF am I putting these in?” Certainly not just a random bowl. So I made a beachball-sized paper mache clown head (with Henry’s help—I’m not allowed to use the hand mixer). It took all weekend and was one of the most frustrating projects of my life (hi, I hate crafts, remember?), but I am so in love with him now! My babe!

It’s surprising to me how many people either hesitated or flat out refused to put their hand in his mouth, like I am so untrustworthy! Barb is so thrilled she gets to stare at the back of his bald head all day.

And what goes along with carnivals and circuses? Side show freaks!

Carey as the Tattooed Lady! A Fiji Mermaid!

Midget pacifier-sucking Brad! Bloody circus peanuts!

Ringmaster A-ron!

Chris and Lee, Ultimate Law Firm Bromance! (Lee is so angry and traumatized about this.)

;

Moustache and beard lollipops!

Fiji Mermaid up close!

Barb the Contortionist!

Random babies in a bottle!

So, this is why I haven’t been writing much on here lately: I’ve got a one-track mind!

Mostly, it’s been received very positively. I mean, it’s fun! It’s interactive! It’s mean-spirited toward Glenn (who secretly loves it)! Even some people who don’t usually talk to me have stopped to appreciate it. I just hope that the few anti-fun people here don’t get upset and complain.

But if last year’s Murder Desk was allowed to carry on throughout the entire month, I don’t see why this one can’t, too.

I still have some more things to do, but one thing’s for sure: all the clown haters sure do love me right now.

“I have a present for you!” Gayle announced on Monday. I instantly perked up. “I’m not above buying your love!” she teased.

“That’s how I became friends with this one,” I said, thumbing at Barb’s desk over my shoulder. “You don’t think that came naturally, do you?”

Gayle laughed really loud.

I wasn’t joking.

But Gayle had forgotten to bring my present on Monday, and then she forgot yesterday, too! But by then, I already knew it was a chocolate-covered Granny Smith apple. If you’ve been following my apple journey over the last year, you know I’m not a big fan of green apples, but hey — it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Um, how am I going to cut it?” I asked Gayle, because this sounded like a job for my enemy, Knife.

“Oh, don’t worry—I’ll cut it for you,” Gayle said. Suddenly, this present was sounding better and better.

Today, I came to work and was met with a giant orb of chocolate on my desk, the size of one of The Situation’s testicles after a scoreless night at Karma.

Every person who passed my desk today did a double take. Some even backtracked to inspect it closer. Amber1 stole it twice.

Finally around 6:00, I could stare at this chunk of confectionary Heaven no longer, and shuffled back to Gayle’s desk with it cradled in my palms. I batted my eyes at her, which she took as her cue to get to cuttin’.

She even cut all the seeds out for me, and made the slices into bite-sized pieces so I wouldn’t choke!

I snatched up a piece while Gayle was methodically slicing and was not prepared for the defibrillating jolt to my tongue as each taste bud blossomed in a beautiful rebirth. Suddenly, Granny Smith apples weren’t so bad.

Unfortunately, while Gayle and I were standing outside of the kitchen, one of the evil ladies from the Travel Office came slinking out of her cave and instantly sniffed out my golden apple. In an uncharacteristic fit of generosity, I offered her a slice, even though Barb is certain she’s a devil worshiper. I secretly hoped she would decline, but she TOOK ONE. 

Hopefully Heaven doesn’t drop a load of frogs on my house tonight.

I shared a slice with everyone on late shift, then took what was left back to my desk, where I sat in a very un-ladylike position, jaws engaged in some nasty Tantric chewing.

“How is it?” Chris asked, after spending all day looking at it even though he doesn’t like chocolate.

“Mmmmmmpgh,” I choked around a retainer of chewy caramel, eyes closed, slowly nodding.

“That was the best response ever,” he laughed, probably wishing he liked chocolate so he could know what God’s post-sex snack tastes like.

Look at how thick that chocolate coating is!

“Wow, you were really hungry,” A-ron said, noting that 3/4 of the apple had been demolished when he passed by my desk on his way out.

“I didn’t eat it all myself! I shared it with everyone!” I cried in defense.

“You gonna go to Wendy’s later, too?” he teased and I just whimpered in defeat.

I feel like I must have chocolate all over my face. (And I know for certain I have some on my pants.)

Amber¹ and I were standing around, watching Barb apply her “I’m Going to the Cheesecake Factory” mascara, like two little girls ogling mommy putting on her face for the milk man.

“You have such nice eyelashes,” Amber¹ sighed. Barb hasn’t turned on her yet, so Amber still says nice things to her.

“Oh, you should have seen how nice they were when I was younger!” Barb totally bragged, before boasting about her hairstyles of yesteryear.

“You should bring in some pictures,” I suggested. (I was going to say “Pics or it didn’t happen” but was fearful that I might have to explain to her what that means. Barb, if you’re reading this and don’t know, ask someone under the age of 30.) “We can use them for your interview!” I added excitedly, imagining Barb on my blog in a beehive.

(Talk about a neo-Beatles song title.

)

“Yeah! When is that going to happen?” Amber asked.

I thought about it for a second. “We should probably wait until November, after all the Halloween stuff and Walking Challenge* craziness.”

“Yeah,” Amber scoffed. “If you guys are even still friends after that!”

Barb is on our walking team, so this is a very valid concern that Amber wisely brought up.

(*Walking Challenge Fall Edition starts NEXT MONDAY, AHHHH!!)

***

Speaking of Barb, she admitted to me last week that she almost prevented me from getting hired here, after telling our supervisor, “Oh, I don’t know. She has a little kid and will probably be calling off all the time.” You know how many times I’ve called off since getting hired in April 2010?

ONE TIME. IN YOUR FACE, BARB!

I will try not to let this bias her interview.

Yesterday at work, Barb was going through a box of holiday decorating junk that she keeps on her desk for no good reason other than to make people speculate if she’s a hoarder. She started pulling out random Rudolph the Red-Nosed reindoor sundry and admitted to no one and everyone at once that she has a huge collection of this shit in her closet at home.

“What, are you trying to be the next roadside attraction?” I asked. She laughed, but all the while her eyes had this thoughtful, faraway glaze to them like she was actually considering this.

This, among other odd and mysterious cogs in her psyche, made me think that she would make an excellent interview subject.

“Let me shadow you for a day!” I pleaded, but she tried to dissuade me by stressing that if it was on a non-workday, I’d mostly be watching her sleep. “Well then, let me do it on a day you go to the grocery store or something!” I suggested, even though that would be just as boring as watching her sleep, unless she “accidentally” fell into the meat slicer.

She hasn’t agreed yet but she also hasn’t flat out said no, and I do have her address so stalking is always an option.

Anyway, who out there would be interested in reading about what Barb does during the day, how many kitten videos she watches per week on YouTube, and what happened to her as a child to make her hate Bill Paxton so much? I even promise not to call it “The Life of (Barb) Riley.”

***
A little while later, Barb was watching some video on her computer and I got all excited, thinking it was a tutorial on display cases for her Rudolph museum, but it was really just some boring-sounding guy droning on about the screen on the new Kindle.

Who watches shit like that? Perhaps Barb can tell us when I interview her.

Glenn stopped by my desk to spray me with sarcasm.

“I’ll try to work on saying that without laughing,” he said to me, in continuation to a previous conversation.

Barb, who hadn’t caught what he initially said, piped up behind me.

“Say what without laughing?” she asked.

“‘Nice to see you’,” Glenn replied drolly.

I think Glenn would make a wonderful Guest Frown of the Day.

A few weeks ago, Bridget approached me with a prank proposition. The prank would be aimed at her Work Nemesis, Brad. They used to work together at another place too, so their history is rich with jovial (we think) jabs and ridicule. When Brad first began working at The Law Firm last winter, Bridget made it her job to point out his uncanny resemblance to a Leprechaun (and then proceeded to tell him to watch out, because I like gingers; ONLY JONNY CRAIG! GOD!).

Brad’s office is pretty sparse, save for five empty picture frames. People ask him all the time, “Why do you have blank picture frames in your office, Brad?” I never really listened to his explanation, but it was obvious to me that this was his ploy to suck poor, unsuspecting Law Firm staff into some boring conversation.

I think in Brad’s head, photo-less picture frames = interesting.

Bridget decided that they needed filled with terrible pictures, and she came to the right person because she has a law degree, and is therefore smart. She knows that my sole purpose for breathing is to wreck people’s days with devious shenanigans. Also, it’s pretty well-known that I ain’t got much else going on in life. I already knew that he hated clowns (I interofficed him a picture of John Wayne Gacy as an initiation to The Law Firm), but I needed to know more. Bridget said he hates yogurt and that she once chased him around with some. We also tossed around the idea of filling them with pictures of Brad’s ex-girlfiends, because Bridget is ruthless.

Bridget made me friend him on Facebook so I would have access to his photos. I mean, we all know I’m a creeper, but poring through pictures of Brad at a wedding, Brad with his girlfriend, Brad looking like Tom Hulce from “Amadeus”, Brad at another wedding made me feel super sleazy.

Still, I needed one more picture to make but I had run the clown phobia into the ground by that point; thank god he posted on Facebook last weekend about his crippling fear of horses.

Jackpot.

Of course this also inadvertently became Henry’s burden to bear, since our printer at home is broken so he had to print the final products out at work, which caused several “THESE ARE ALL WRONGGGG!” (completely civil) discussions.

Then came the arduous task of getting him out of his office long enough to fill the frames.

First, Lauren was going to take him to get coffee, but then said, “I already went to get coffee with him this morning; he’s going to think I’m hitting on him!”

Wendy was busy. I asked A-ron yesterday but he changed his mind after he saw how busy Brad was pretending to be. So I went to Chris and said, “Bridget and I need to get Brad out of his office. Please do something.” So then all of a sudden, because CHRIS asked him, A-ron was on board. Barb said she’d help me stuff the frames. Bridget was our look-out.

In the end, I think it took 5 attorneys to get one attorney out of his office.

There’s a joke in there somewhere.

A-ron called Brad and asked him to come to his office, which is only right around the corner, so we knew we had to make this fast. That and the fact that A-ron called me and said, “Make this fast.”

I watched Brad start to walk down the hall, then he changed his mind and went back into his office. However, Barb didn’t see him go back and nearly barged right into his office until she saw me frantically signaling that he was still in there. God, way to go BARB.

(I’ll be kind to Barb and not tell the story of how she completely ruined a prank that Lee set in motion two weeks ago, also involving Brad. But just so you know, SHE COMPLETELY RUINED IT.)

Finally, it was a go. We worked so fast that I bent a nail back AND cut myself on one of the stupid picture frame prongs. (All for you, Bridget!) But it was all worth it when, 10 minutes later, Brad leaned back in his chair and found himself looking straight into Pennywise’s eyes.

I think my favorite part of this whole debacle was when Sean came over to ask me a question at the precise moment Brad left his office for the second time, and I shouted, “I CAN’T. NOT RIGHT NOW!” and almost fell out of my chair on my way to snatch the picture frames. Sean’s face went from surprised to utterly-disgusted in .5 seconds flat, then he retreated with a wave of his hand, like he was physically erasing the whole display.

God, nothing makes me feel more alive than a good prank.

Today I had big plans to spin a yarn for the younguns about how my friend Seri and I prayed and ate with the Hare Krishnas on Sunday (which of course really means we stumbled around their compound like doe-eyed idiots, ripe for converting, eating stuff we couldn’t pronounce), but then I was fed cake and champagne at work and have been in a goddamn coma ever since. I wasn’t too bad until A-Ron gave me his cup of champagne, too.

I should have quit while I was ahead.

So now I’m not going to do anything but eat my wasabi almonds and make more plans for the upcoming department Halloween desk decorating contest.

Oh, and work. I will do all of the work, too. But maybe I’ll just close my eyes first.

Just….for a little….while.

Work Henry (aka Glenn) taped this up on my desk the other day.

Analyzing Erin R. Kelly. What a massive undertaking that would be.

We’re having a baby shower for Colleen today at work; Barb knew better than to ask for my help decorating, but I still contributed a little.

I came out of retirement to paint this for the baby’s room. I hope Colleen (and the baby) like it!

When Barb saw the gift bag on my desk, she got seriously disgusted and yelled, “NOW who are you getting gifts from?

! This is getting ridic—” Then she realized it was Colleen’s baby gift and said, “Oh,” in a tiny voice.

Speaking of parties, I had one thrown for me Sunday night. No, I take that back—it wasn’t a party. It was BETTER than a party. It was so good, in fact, that I am still stunned two days later and every time I try to sit down and write about it, I wind up staring off into the distance with a goofy smile on my goofy face.

Soon!

There is some conflict happening in our department right now involving the placement of paper clips upon the copier. I’m so angry about it that when I explain it out loud to people, I actually fear that my words are going to grudge-fuck each other and spawn a fiery hate baby.

Until then, thank god pretzels and severed fingers are permitted.

This sign is actually looking out for people so I’ll let it slide.

My friend Michelle sent me the best mug ever! She said it probably won’t do much to improve my reputation at work, but that’s OK. Everyone there will agree that it fits in perfectly on my Desk of Inappropriate Things.

Elsewhere at work, I was having problems that only the Help Desk could fix. The guy I spoke with was pleasant and polite, but I couldn’t tell if he had a speech impediment or an accent, but whatever it was made him say “eggcellent” when I permitted him to remotely access my computer.

I answered all of his questions in a standard “I have shit to do, IT dude” tone.

After we hung up, he emailed me I have me try another avenue to reach computer victory. His name was Alex and his last name was approximately 9 syllables long so I felt compelled to look him up in the Firm directory.

HELLO ALEX.

Even Barb and Debbie were like, “Yes, this is the man you should cheat on Henry with. Go for it.”

I was on my lunch break a few minutes later and even though the sensible “what will the neighbors think” side of my brain was saying “No, don’t do it, dumdum,” I found myself typing his name in Facebook anyway.

DOUBLE HELLO ALEX.

“OMG OMG!” I cried giddily, making Barb stand up to look at my computer screen, with Alex’s HOT FACE AND NAKED TORSO looking back.

From there, I learned that while he lives in Boston now, he’s actually from BELARUS and lived there at least through high school, based on his “about” section. That explains the accent and HOTNESS.

I guess I’ll have to stop making fun of the Belarus athletes in the Olympics now.

I also learned that he recently traveled to Doha and he’s 38 which is pretty much my ideal age.

“You should make that picture your new computer background,” Barb laughed, but I seriously considered it until I realized that there was a possibility he’d need to remotely access my computer again, which made Barb crack up at the thought.

Then she REALLY wanted me to make his picture my background.

The last email I got from him yesterday said he had some ideas about how to fix my issue and that he was going to go home and sleep on it.

“OMG HE’S TALKING TO ME ABOUT SLEEPING HOW INTIMATE!” I hyperventilated.

Meanwhile, before any of this happened, I ran into my co-worker Cheryl in the kitchen who told me that it sounded like something a different department was going to fix for me, and that I should just email them. And I was going to do that, but then I had to go and look up Alex’s picture in the directory and it just totally snowballed.

“I’m totally stringing him along,” I admitted to Barb, and then told her what Cheryl had suggested I do. “But that was before I fell in love with Alex,” I explained. I didn’t even care about gaining access to this particular Outlook inbox anymore — I just wanted to keep Alex in my life for as long as possible.

When I got to work this afternoon, I had an email from him telling me to let him him know when I had a “minuet” [sic] because he wanted to try something out, which I of course construed into a million different sexual contexts and did that creepy, throaty laugh I do when I’m being weird.

He called me again, and this time I was totally perky and excitable, a complete 180 from yesterday when I spoke to him in a bored and distracted manner.

However, while we were on the phone, I noticed that everything had been fixed and I now had access to some stupid Outlook inbox, though I’d have preferred access to Alex’s pants.

I was really whiny for awhile after that.

“Maybe he looked you up on Compass too and did the same thing!” Barb suggested soothingly.

“Ugh, if he saw my picture on Compass, there is no way he’d have felt compelled to look me up on Facebook!” I pouted. Seriously, my Firm photo is Fug City. Plus, my hair was still dark brown and hanging all limply around my fat mongoloid face when it was taken.

Later in the night, I told my friend Kristen the whole saga, so she immediately looked him up in the Firm directory and noticed that HIS CELL PHONE NUMBER IS LISTED.

She texted it to me but I haven’t done anything with it yet. Alex better pray I don’t find a way to Boston sometime soon.

I was going to include his OMGHOTBELARUSIAN photo in this post, but…remember what you learned this year about being stupid with photos on your blog, Erin.

Man, this week has been rich with far-fetched crushes.

I knew that my birthday wasn’t going to go by unnoticed at work yesterday (maybe the fact that I stopped nearly every co-worker on Friday to remind them had something to do with it), but I really wasn’t expecting as much of a to-do as I actually got. I figured there would be some mild decorating, maybe a card or two.

Instead, I walked into a confetti explosion, not one but two Happy Birthday banners flanked by pictures of Jonny Craig, a parade of gift bags and cards, and mini lemonade cupcakes.

What the fuck, you guys, I almost died!

You can tell I was excited because all my pictures are blurry.

Glenn could have at least signed his Post It Note. (I put the confetti there myself; he’s not that creative.) When I asked him if he got me anything, he handed me a piece of candy from my own candy dish. God, he is totally Work Henry.

My card from Gayle!

GAYLE MADE ME A JONNY CRAIG CHARM BRACELET CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT?! I was wearing my prized jeweled elephant bracelet at the time and that sucker was shunned real quick in favor of dangling Jonnys. Barb’s reaction was, “Great. Now she likes Gayle more than me.” I just see this as motivation for everyone else to step it up!

Ruby-hued cocktail ring from Debbie, who had no idea that Ruby is my nickname. This inspired me to tell Barb the story about alter ego after Debbie left for the day (she might be too new to handle some of my over-shares) which was met with Barb’s standard WTF reaction.

Lee was jealous that my birthday caused more hullabaloo (God I love that word) than his did last week, so he confetti-bombed me. And I mean, he confetti-BOMBED me. Every time I moved, clumps of it would cascade down my back all the way into my pants.

It was sharp.

I ended up leaving a trail of it all over the department and brought even more of it home with me. I’m still brushing it out of my hair.

This was taped to the back of Barb’s card. She got me an I Love Being in the Cemetery pendant! And Wendy got me a fairy door locket so I’ll be able to put a picture of Jonny in it.

“Yeah, forget about Henry and your son,” Barb said sarcastically when I excitedly announced my intentions.

Jeannie got me some lip balm and a Shit List notepad (Wendy rolled her eyes and said, “Great, I know my name will be on that a lot”), Catherine got me a Starbucks card because I’m awesome, and Sandy (who hung one of the Happy Birthday banners up on her own!) and Sue got me cards. Everyone else fawned over me with words, which was acceptable.

A few people were like, “It’s your birthday, WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” and I just spread my arms and looked around my desk smugly. Seriously, stay home and miss all of this?! I have the best work friends of all time!

After work, Chooch gave me two cards: one was his signature ridiculous music-playing cards (he loves those things) and I couldn’t stop laughing because he used an Internet smiley face on the envelope. Seriously, he’s six.

The second card was handmade. He’s been obsessed with all of the Ju-On movies of late, so that’s the picture he drew for me, which I guess is better than the mound of shit he drew on Henry’s birthday card in June. He also got me nail polish and the new Used CD.

And Andrea’s mom sent me the most beautiful flowers!

I never get sent flowers! They made me feel so special.

Actually, everyone made me feel so special yesterday. I have had a notoriously long line of disappointing and depressing birthdays. It’s not about “stuff,” it’s about feeling like people care about me.

I always get so sad around my birthday because it makes me miss my Pappap so much, and it brings to the forefront all of the issues I have with my family and I can’t help but wonder if this will be the year my mom actually reaches out. It never is, but both of my brothers, my aunt Susie, and my cousin Danielle remembered my birthday, and aside from Henry and Chooch, that’s all the family I need.

This was the first year I didn’t cry (in a bad way) once on July 30th, and it’s because of all you guys. (There was a good chance that Henry would fuck that up once I came home from work last night, but he was careful with his words. I didn’t even flip out when he said that my present has to be given to me on a certain day which was not yesterday. This obviously means, “Erin, you spent all of my money with your dumb weekend amusement park tour, so now I have to wait until I paid again.” But look at me, being all patient and not spoiled!)

Meanwhile, Seri and Pete have something up their sleeves and it is driving me absolutely crazy. We’re celebrating my birthday in two weeks because they’re going to Delaware this weekend. Seri texted me when we were in Erie over the weekend and said that they bought my birthday gift and it’s so obscure and Erin-esque that she feels confident it’s the most perfect gift ever. They came over Sunday night after we got home and while Seri was inside discussing birthday plans with Henry, I tried to get Pete to tell me what my gift is and all he would say was that he’s not entirely comfortable having it in their house.

I was telling Barb all of this at work yesterday and I said, “Well, whatever it is, Seri was able to carry it into my house to show Henry, so it’ s not a wheelchair.” I paused thoughtfully and then blurted out, “Oh my god, maybe it’s leg braces!”

Barb almost died right there at the absurdity of my exclamation, but I was totally serious. Turns out that wasn’t even my actual present that Seri was showing Henry, but something that “goes along” with everything else they’re planning. WHAT THE FUCK, THIS IS KILLING ME! I’m so not used to this kind of birthday treatment.

Thirty-three already feels pretty spectacular. It’s time to close the crypt door on all of the childhood darkness.

To Carey just now, I said, “I think I walked myself sick. I feel pretty nauseous.”

“Drink lots of water*!” she lectured, followed by other ‘I’m Being Stern Because I Care’ sentiments.

*(Originally, I typed, “Drink lots of walk!” That’s how consumed I am with this. I might even start watching every season of “Walker, Texas Ranger”. CHAMPIONSHIP WALKING 4 LYFE.)

“Yeah, but I have almost 20,000 steps for the day already!” I cried defensively. (19,755 to be exact, and it’s only 6:30.)

(My friends are even having dreams about me and my steps now and I love it.)

(OK, it was one friend. But clearly Gina is my BEST friend now. If she plays her cards right, I might start walking to her house for no reason.)

“That’s great!” Carey enthused, and I thought she actually was being supportive until she tacked on, “but when you’re lying in a grave, your pedometer isn’t going to work.”

DANG, YA’LL.

Somehow, someway, Team Apple is #11! I am astounded, to say the least. But this inspired Carey to increase her meandering to a steady gait!

And she even found her pedometer!

OMG I’m one of those 22 people! Actually, my grand total for the week was 152,075. I have the suntan and delirium to prove it.

Two? Three more weeks to go?

Friday morning, Chooch had to follow me around the house just to have a conversation with me. Poor kid. But he knows that mommy is trying to win, you guys. So he doesn’t complain too much. Besides, he’s known me for 6 years. If he doesn’t know by now that his mom isn’t normal, then I want a refund because this kid’s defective. And then Henry drove me to work, so since I missed all those crucial steps walking to the trolley station, I made Henry drop me off a retardedly far-away distance from the Law Firm so I could try and make up for some of that. There was a time when I would have been concerned about getting sweaty before work. But then I got this fucking pedometer.

Toward the end of the night, my sanity suffered a schism and I just lost it, completely cracked up alone to the point of tears, and then I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything other than an apple, almonds and air all day. Amber² tried to give me an apple but I turned it down because:

1. It was green
2. The last time I ate two apples back-to-back, I got sick
3. It was green

Henry and Chooch met me downtown after work that night because Chooch wanted to see some furries at Anthrocon; thanks to all the furry-chasing that day, I accumulated 23,000 without even trying,  because in addition to walking to and from the furries, we also had to walk home from the trolley stop. The downside to this was that it was after 10:00PM and I had still barely eaten. I wanted to get something to eat downtown, but Henry kept saying, “There’s nowhere down here to eat!”

Oh. OK.

I guess all those places we passed walking down Liberty Avenue were just selling food-scented oxygen to taunt all the hobos and psychotic girls with walking obsessions.

There’s an Eat n Park down the street from our house, so Henry said we could just eat there since we have to walk right past it after getting off the trolley. By this point, Henry’s face was looking like a fine protein substitute, but I followed him into Eat n Park anyway, where I then ended up sitting for an embarrassingly unacceptable amount of time waiting for one of their lethargic waitresses to take our drink order. Henry knew it was coming, he had to have known, after 11 years of being my lesser half. In a terse, yet highly enraged tone, I demanded that he hand over the house keys, because it was no longer humanly possible for me to sit there another minute without food in my face.

“Please don’t do this,” he begged. “Oh god, not here, please not here.” But then I flew off the handle about how he was trying to control me (three days later, I can now see the absurdity in that claim) so he quietly handed me the keys before everyone in the restaurant became privy to the dysfunction at table 15 and I stormed off, marching like a strung out maniac the whole way home, where I made a sloppy and highly uninspired cheese sandwich which I ate so fast I didn’t even taste it, not even the eight times I choked on it. Then I collapsed into bed and was asleep before Chooch and Henry even came home.  I can’t remember the last time I went to bed before 11:00PM, but I can guarantee it would have had something to do with a fever and/or rufies in my drink. So that is how exhausted I was.

***

I had been anxiously awaiting Day 6 all week because that was the day I was going to hit 30,000 steps.

That morning in bed, Henry reminded me what a bitch I was the night before and said that this walking challenge was probably going to break us up. Then when he went to lovingly spoon me (it happens sometimes), he pulled back and said, “Oh my god, did you sleep with your pedometer on?” after feeling it on the waistband of my pajama shorts.

“Um yeah. What if I had to get up to pee?!” I exclaimed defensively.

“I can’t be with you right now,” he mumbled and got out of bed.

Anyway, what a perfect day it was! Henry and Chooch were gone for most of it, opting to help our Castle Blood friends move stuff to their new location (and by that I mean Henry helped while Chooch drove everyone crazy, I’m sure). I went straight to my favorite cemetery and basically did my usual, pre-walking challenge routine and racked up 10,000 steps by noon. It was really hot out there, which I love, but I figured I should go home and maybe rest for a little bit, since I literally had the rest of the day to do nothing but walk. Honestly, when people at work asked me what I was doing that weekend, I looked at them like they were stupid and said, “Uh, walking.” The standard response to that was a sarcastic, “Oh yeah. Duh.”

I am going to be the loneliest person at the Law Firm by the time this challenge is over.

After about two hours of sporadic and intense pacing around the house while listening to a playlist of Drake and The Weeknd (I pace so hard that it actually counts as aerobic steps), I decided to take my show onto the streets of Brookline. Talked to Christina for a few minutes while I power-walked, and she said she was glad I decided to stop hating her just in time for her to come to my funeral. She knows me way too well.

It was even hotter by then, and of course I picked the parts of town with the steepest hills because I’m a sado-masochist. I murdered the pavement until the number on my pedometer seemed adequate, and then made my way back home. This is where things got weird: I was feeling a little spacey by the time I got to my house, so I decided to sit down on my front steps for a little bit before entering  my un-air-conditioned house. The next thing I knew, I was waking up on my front porch. I’m not sure if I fell asleep or passed out, and there was ringing in my ears, but yay—20,000 steps!

I went inside and drank lots of water. Then I laid silently on the couch for awhile, staring at the ceiling.

Henry and Chooch came home around 7:00PM with dinner. (That’s how you know I’m totally preoccupied with this—I allowed Henry to be apart from me for nine and a half hours on a weekend and not once did I call him and demand him to drop everything and come back to me. I mean, not that I have ever done that. Shit, I’m not that kind of a girl.) At the sight of me pacing, the phrase, “You’re a fucking idiot” came out of Henry’s mouth 87 different ways. Later that night, Chooch was being a royal backseat brat on the way home from Target, so I had Henry pull over about a mile away from home and I walked the rest of the way. Thanks for the motivation, son.

I was so close to reaching 30,000 by the time Chooch went to bed that night, but Henry said he refused to watch Pretty Little Liars with me if I was pacing. So I actually had to be still for a little while. As soon as it was over though, I back to moving frenetically until the numbers of my pedometer finally flipped to 30,000. Henry made me sit down for the last 55 minutes of the night because I was “making [him] nervous.”

I asked Henry if he thought I would lose any weight doing this and he muttered, “Yeah, while you’re in the hospital.”

My grand total that day, thanks to Henry keeping me down, was 30,139. It proved that my ultimate goal of 50,000 might be slightly out of my reach, though. BUT I WILL STILL TRY.

MAYBE.

***

 We were at Kennywood for Day 7 and I was absolutely panic-stricken that I wouldn’t continue my 20,000 streak. That’s really all I’m asking. Henry rejected my plan to “get up super early” and walk around the cemetery for 10,000 steps pre-Kennywood, because he didn’t want me to be a bitch that day.

Do you know how excruciating it is to stand in a line for a ride when your body is not used to being at rest? Oh my god, I had the shakes. I did mini-laps whenever I could, since my Kennywood crew spent so much time milling about and strolling.

STROLLING.

On every ride, I would pat down my right side and scream, “MY PEDOMETER!” before realizing it was still there. On some rides, I even left it in the “Leave At Your Own Risk” box with everyone else’s keys, phones, and glasses. My precious pedometer.

Even during a slight drama-laden glitch in the day, I heard T-Pain’s vocoder-voice whisper in my ear, “Walk it out.” And so I did, 20,053 times.

***

Yesterday, Day 8, I came close to failing. I didn’t have a chance to do much before work, so I didn’t get there with my usual 10,000-11,000 like I had been doing last week.  So once all the day shift people left, I just started doing laps around the department under the ruse of  “Oh, I just want to use the other scanner that’s the furthest from where I sit.” I think my fellow late-shift co-workers  saw right through my subterfuge though, because they all know I’m going insane over this. When people at work ask me questions about my step-collecting, I can hear myself answering in this crazed, hyper voice, but I can’t make it stop.

At one point during the night, Carey asked me if I my computer was running slow.

“No,” I answered. “You know why? Because I walk so fast.”

“Asshole,” she mumbled from her office.

That night, I had to put on my professional walking attire and hit the streets of Brookline. I really didn’t want to because Brookline sucks at night (also see Brookline sucking during: the day, dusk, sunrise, Christmas morning, Memorial Day, summer, winter, fall, spring, your grandma’s cat’s birthday, everyday) but I powered on past loitering teenagers at the heckle-ready, drunk people staggering along the Boulevard’s sidewalk, and someone with a smoker’s voice screaming through his phone at his mom that he was on his way home so shut the fuck up, and when I turned around, I discovered it was actually a boy somewhere between 10 and 12 and not actually my old meth-addict neighbor Robin.

I will only stay on the main drag of Brookline at night, which is still scary in spite of all the street lights and constant witnesses (i.e. traffic), so I still needed about 4,000 more steps when I returned home, which meant it was Master Chef Pacing Time.

Henry came out of the kitchen and said, “Wait….now you’re holding weights above your head while you pace?”

“I wanted to make it harder,” I panted.

Henry sat on the couch for the first 5 minutes, before saying, “I can’t watch this anymore,” and retreating to bed. I made it to 20,000 with 30 minutes left to the day. This shit is not getting any easier.