Let’s take another stumble around my city. This time we’ll walk out of my building and go right then change our minds and go left because why not.

When the distinct stench of boiling piss coils its way up into your nostrils, you will know without even looking up that you are about to pass Mike & Tony’s Gyros and then, if you’re anything like me, you will say the word “gyro” to yourself and then relish the fact that SO MANY PEOPLE would be angry with you for not pronouncing it YEAR-o. Say it again! GY-RO GY-RO GY-RO! Oh, just like it’s spelled!

Now that we’re cloaked under a steel curtain of rebellion, let’s proceed.

If the bouquet of piping hot urine didn’t make you hurl, you’ll have another shot at jogging ye ol’ gag reflex a few feet later when we approach the Planned Parenthood protestors. Mmmm, abortion dioramas! If they try to hand you some of their literature, take it and then throw it away in the garbage while they’re looking. That’s what I do. BECAUSE: REBEL.

GY-RO GY-RO GY-RO.

Let’s turn on to another street where we can marvel and ogle the luxurious facade of this…printing company.

What a waste of a great slab of architecture.

If you’re one of those freaks (like me) who dislike Starbucks, might you consider buying your whatever-is-trendy-now latte at Crazy Mocha? It’s OK there but sometimes the broads working at this particular location are the exact reason why hipsters get a bad rap. SORRY THAT I’M MAKING YOU DO YOUR STUPID JOB BY ORDERING COFFEE.

Now we’re walking on the same block we started on because your tour guide got confused and turned the wrong way. But hey, let’s re-pass this new artsy theater thing called Bricolage and see if that lady is still sitting in the window in the middle of a pile of papers. Yep, she is. I think it might be some kind of living art exhibit but who has time to talk to a person and ask, you know?

This place closed sometime shortly after I started working downtown and I honestly thought Barb was going to throw a funeral for it, she was that upset. I never ate there, so I didn’t care one way or another. It’s still just sitting there, all vacant and asking to be vandalized.

I hope one of Barb’s enemies buys it and turns it into a BILL PAXTON MUSEUM. I’d visit it every day just so I could send her mean photos to remind her of how much I MISS HER.

And then right across the street is the library, which I knew existed somewhere downtown after 5+ years of overhearing co-workers say things like, “I am going to walk to the library to return my book” or “There was a crime scene over by the library.” However, I had never actually seen the library. Turns out, I’ve walked past the library approximately 87,000 times and somehow never, not once, picked up on the GIANT letters spelling out “library” on the windows or the fact that it’s filled with books.

If you’re not into the glorious musk of books, cross the street and dunk your nose into the wares of the sidewalk perfume peddler. Also, this elderbroad with pink hair and skull scarf is way cooler than you and me. I wonder which scent she will buy. Hopefully none because I don’t trust the perfume peddler. I saw him doing push-ups once in the middle of a plaza FOR NO REASON.

PUSH-UPS! FOR NO REASON!

This is a building that tourists like to photograph. Every time I see it, I think back to the time in elementary school when I went downtown with my BFF Christy’s family to see the Christmas shit that is traditionally on display down there, and I was being so uncharacteristically obnoxious that Christy’s mom yelled at me, and Christy’s mom is like THE NICEST LADY EVER, so that should tell you a little something about how I was acting.

Also, that’s a lie because I see this building EVERYDAY and I do not actually think about getting yelled at by Mrs. McBride EVERYDAY.  But I did think about it after I took this picture because I walked by a sign for the Wintergarden and had a flashback of getting scolded.

And then I noticed I was walking with my bottom lip jutting out.

Henry often yells at me for the same reason, so I guess I haven’t really grown up very much. (Welcome to Oh Honestly, Erin, where the realizations are groundbreaking.)

Now we’re walking alongside the big tall glass castle building because I like the way the ground looks fit for Alice and her Wonderland friends to have a scene.

There are these dinosaur things on the other side. Also, Heinz is like a big thing around here. You wouldn’t understand.

I don’t think they mind having their picture taken. They’re probably used to it.

I know this is weird because my name is Erin, but this is not actually my deli. If it were, the only “hot special” would be what you’re dumping down the commode afterward.

There. That was another 60 minute stumble* around downtown. And now you’ve seen more Pittsburgh parts than you probably ever cared to. In the next installment, I will try to capture the Dunkin’ Donuts protestor and possibly the scary lady on Smithfield who is always having a very loud argument with who I can only assume is Drop Dead Fred.

*(Not even lying, I really did lose my balance and stumble into a wall while walking through an alley and I basically fit right in.)

Gayle was over at my desk chatting about non-work-related things, can you even imagine, when our department help line rang. None of us particularly like answering that line because helping people is annoying, so Gayle kind of claimed that duty because she’ll talk to anyone.

The telephone is still a novelty to her. I don’t know.

“Gayle, you better grab that,” I directed, with just a hint of a scoff because that’s how I like to speak Gayle.

As she dutifully scurried off to her desk, I said to Glenn, “Aren’t I great at delegating?”

No answer.

“You might even say I’m management material.” It was a race to the end of the sentence, and my laughter definitely won the medal.

“Please,” Glenn muttered. “You can’t even manage yourself.”

And then Glenn and Amber² were talking about Henry being a serial killer, which I think somehow came up because I was bragging about selling a Ted Bundy birthday card (I like to keep my co-workers abreast of my comings and goings in the underbelly of the greeting card scene).

“You know, the only time I have ever seen Henry seething mad was when he was dealing with his ex,” I TMI’d to my group.

“Compared to her, I’m a dream!”

“Let’s not get carried away. Just say you’re ‘not as bad,'” Glenn interjected.

In other work news, we need a good name for Amber² because she hates being called that on here. Help. (I already promised her that it won’t be “Mom Amber” because, ew.)

Nearly every day, I spend my hour-long lunch break walking aimlessly around the city. So today, I decided to take my three blog readers with me on AN OFFICIAL WALKING TOUR OF PITTSBURGH.

First, let’s walk out of my building and go a direction.

Here you will see a FLORIST where I spent approximately 5 seconds asking if they sell succulents and then they were like, “Haha, no” and I was like, “GO FUCK YOURSELF AND YOUR ORDINARY PLANTS THEN!” and smashed a flower pot into the floor on my way out. Fuck those people.

Church. I think this is the one where I participated in some spirit conjuring?

Sometimes, there are birds.

Here, we pause to call Henry, who is spitting a haughty diatribe about being signed up for a Pittsburgh blogger holiday cookie swap when he’s not even through with the pie party yet. Then we hang up on him because he is boring us.

Like, the old jail or something.

None of these are where I work.

A lamp post.

Oh, OK.

Yinzer Haute Couture.

Halloween shit in SW Randall’s window. I took this right after some guy popped his head out of the Weiner World ordering window and screamed “HOW YOU DOIN!?” to me right when I was about to take a picture and then I felt TOO SPOOKED so I ran away.

A mural. If those A Beautiful Mess bitches ever come to Pittsburgh,  $20 says they pigeon-toe all over this fucking mural.

HALT! Huge tourist attraction right here. This is the Army Navy store that sold some madman the machete he would then use to hack a motherfucker!

Then you’ll walk down a street and these things are there looking all big and stony. Photo-op, probably.

Spoiler alert: pumpkin everything.

Weird, light-up fountain pathway thing: the only redeemable part of our eyesore of a convention center. That building can get fucked. Seriously.

Here is a relic of something that I don’t think is there anymore, and here’s why: I can’t find an entrance. Unless it’s some Diagon Alley bullshit and I just don’t know the secret.

And then let’s go down the alley that has all the weird shit in it. (Non-people-wise, I mean.)

And whatever this thing is.

Maybe next week I’ll show you the more urine-scented parts of town and then you won’t ever have to come to Pittsburgh. Yay!

Today is the Dip Off, Dip Day, Day of Dip, whatever we’re calling it when everyone brings in a dip to work. Originally, I was going to give Henry a reprieve since the pie party is coming up and he will be doing all kind of kitchen work for that day. But then one day last week I looked at the sign up sheet and noticed that no one was doing anything along the lines of SAVORY PUMPKIN. And I mean come on now, autumn. So I asked Henry if he would consider making a savory pumpkin dip and he muttered, “Whatever you want.” Because of course it’s whatever I want.

I found a delightful-sounding pumpkin parmesan dip on the Internet and it seemed easy so I didn’t think Henry would mind too much. Plus, I knew for a FACT that we had a can of pumpkin guts already on hand.

I put myself down on the “dipper” side though, just in case Henry bitched out. Then I could just bring in pumpernickel pretzel rods and call it a day.

On Friday, I was filing some stuff away and happened to glance at the sign-up sheet when I saw it.

GLENN WAS BRINGING PUMPKIN PARMESAN DIP.

I did a whole bunch of verbal fist-shaking at the back of Glenn’s head and he just mumbled, “Looks like you should have signed him up for that then.”

^&(%^*%$^*%_P_(&*^&%^*%

I mean, OK — good point. But still!

So then I was like FORGET IT HENRY. HALT THE DIP-MAKING ENGINE. I’M NOT BRINGING ANYTHING TO THE DUMB THING.

And then I found a light and refreshing-sounding green pea dip. So I sent it to Henry and he said, “We’ll see.”

Then it was 7:00 last night and I was like, “Well…are you making the dip or what?” and he was “Jesus Christ, Erin!” So then he went to the store and made the dip and I thought it was terrible and we had a fight about how “it has to sit for a while!” and I cried, “WELL YOU BETTER JUST GO AND GET THOSE PUMPERNICKLE THINGS BECAUSE I CANNOT TAKE THAT SHITTY DIP TO WORK!” It was after 9 by this time, and there he went, back out to the store.

I tried the dip this morning and it tasted much better! So look at me, now I had a dip AND a dipper to bring with me!

The secret ingredient in my dip (haha, “my”) is tofu but I didn’t broadcast that very widely because god forbid tofu. I think because there is no heavy cream or cheese of any sort in it, it might be kind of healthy?

Glenn is less immature than me so he actually had nice things to say about the dip. Todd, too, until he learned of tofu’s presence inside the dip. So finally, I decided I would try Glenn’s dumb dip and made a big production of telling everyone within earshot that it wasn’t that great, OK at best. But really, it was super good and I knew it would be because why else would I have chosen that SAME RECIPE FOR HENRY?!

Here is a very real life, non-curated photo. Shit’s real here at the law firm. We make messes sometimes.

Meanwhile, Gayle brought a separate dip with no bacon in it just for me because she’s scared of my fury;  I was hesitant to eat it because she told me this in front of Glenn and Todd, and who knows if they keep bacon bits in their pocket. I would not put any level of dip sabotage past them.

In other news, I’m not saying I’m magic or anything but don’t you think it’s curious that a week after I named my succulent Boz Scaggs, the real BOZ SCAGGS announced that he’s coming to Pittsburgh?!

What a great, sultry photo of Mr. Scaggs.

I excitedly told everyone about this today and Glenn felt inspired to fire up some old school Scaggs hits on his computer in an effort to teach Amber² and Todd of his existence. The consensus after hearing Lowdown and Lido Shuffle was, “Nope.”

“He’s like the poor man’s Barry Manilow,” I said to him and Glenn vehemently disagreed with me so now I think Boz is his brother.

“Glenn come on. He’s a second rate Barry Manilow!” I argued. I mean, I love Boz Scaggs, clearly, but barely anyone even knows who he is anymore!

“He was really big there for awhile,” Glenn muttered in defense of the Scaggs.

“Yeah, but none of us were alive then!” I laughed, meaning me, Amber, and Todd. Obviously Glenn has been alive for hundreds of years. And then I taught Glenn about Yacht Rock, which he didn’t know existed and you just know he’s at home right now Googling it.

And then in non-work news, I was on the phone with Henry while outside on my break and he told me that he dropped on a pallet on the same foot that was run over by a pallet jack and I wheezed, “OMG OK I HAVE TO GO NOW” and then ran back to work so I could tell everyone, as I doubled over with laughter.

There was a collective round of Poor Henry after that.

Guys, I’m panicking. Ever since I read an email at work about FLU SHOT registration, I have started to feel like I’m getting sick. And I can’t get sick because there are haunted houses to run amok through this weekend.

So I’m trying to take it easy at work by not working. (LOL, just kidding. It’s a slow night. And ugh, GLENN is filling in for GAYLE on late shift so that’s annoying. He’s already insulted me 216391874 times, but that’s just fine. I’ll get my revenge.)

This morning I watched the latest Scream Queens episode and I have to say, I have a ton of faith invested in this series. It’s everything I liked about Glee (except for Lea Michele, but I’m learning to tolerate her) and American Horror Story mashed into one edgy television delight. However, I started to hate Glee after awhile, and AHS always finds a way to disappoint me, so I’m trying to not let Ryan Murphy break my heart again.

I also did some painting. I’m trying to force myself out of this rut and I think I’m almost there. Maybe.

Then something alarming happened at work. I got on the elevator to leave the office for my lunch break and I accidentally pressed “4” instead of the lobby. Then some guy got on at 7 and I thought to myself, “OH BOY HE’S IN FOR A SHOCK WHEN THE ELEVATOR STOPS ON 4 AND NO ONE GETS ON.” So I was going to tell him that I accidentally hit the wrong button but then I remembered my allergy to small talk so I said nothing. When the doors opened at 4 and no one got on, he said, “Must be a ghost. Oh well, I guess it’s the right time of the year.”

AND THEN SOMETHING HAPPENED. I joyfully blurted out, “OCTOBER IS MY FAVORITE MONTH.”

He cringed.

“What, you don’t like October?” I asked sadly.

“Eh, I don’t know. It’s just depressing. Everything starts getting cold…”

“Yeah, but, haunted houses!” I said as the elevator deposited us on the ground floor.

He laughed. “OK, there’s that.”

Now we were walking out of the building together, talking about the creepier side of October.

“I can’t help it, I’m goth at heart,” I said, and he laughed.

By this point we were outside the building. “You know, the best haunted house I’ve ever gone to was in Smithton—”

“RICH’S FRIGHT FARM!” I yelled in tandem, except that his version of “Rich’s Fright Farm” was said in a calm, normal person tone.

I told him about how now they have a new addition where they blindfold you and—

“They blindfold you? No. No, I wouldn’t do that,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well, you can opt out of that part,” I reassured him.

I mean, I know what you’re thinking at this point: By golly, Erin, take him to the Courthouse already!

But alas, it ended as abruptly as it started, with us waving as we went our separate ways.

Man, that guy gave good small talk. AND I DIDN’T EVEN ASK HIM HIS NAME.

In other Friday Late Shift news, I’m eating squash that Henry roasted for me but he didn’t take the skin off so it looks like I’m eating an actual Gremlin. I mean, it’s still good though, but looking at it kind of makes me gag so I have to close my eyes.

I keep missing my mouth.

Because I’m eating with my eyes closed.

Meanwhile, Henry just texted me from Barnes and Noble. That is this place where BOOKS are sold. How weird and antiquated right? Anyway, they’re there because Chooch is obsessed with YouTubers, all of the YouTubers, YouTube as a whole, but Hannah Hart is one of his favorites (he hijacked my phone once and made me follow her on Instagram) and she’s inspired him to learn how to cook, so he made Henry take him  to the book store so that he can buy her My Drunk Kitchen book, which apparently they couldn’t find and had to ask about it, which probably made him feel awesome since he had his nine-year-old son in tow, who, by the way, likes to tell people that his dad is an alcoholic (?!).

(You know which YouTuber I love and it makes Henry so mad? Shannon Taylor / HeyThereImShannon. He will literally walk away if I play her videos. LOLALLTHEWAYHOME.)

[EDIT: Now that I’m home from work, I got the full story, which is that Chooch stood in the middle of the store, saying, “I need help!” and then a B&N employee was like, “What are you looking for?” at which point Chooch said, “My Drunk Kitchen” because that seems like something a 4th grader would want, right? They didn’t have it so the person asked Chooch if he wanted them to order him a copy and he said yes at which point Henry butted in and said, “NO.” Henry was really annoyed while Chooch was telling me this story. “I was like, ‘Hello, talk to me, not the 9-year-old!'” Sounds like someone is just jelly.]

Ew, there are hard parts to my squash that I have to keep spitting out! HENRY, YOU ARE THE WORST. WHERE IS MY 7TH FLOOR SOUL MATE?!

I was helping some dude via email and he told me I’m enlightening AND a lifesaver and Glenn almost puked, but I bet if I showed him my Gremlin-skin squash, he’d puke for real.

The other night, I stupidly let Chooch read one of my short stories. Watching the expressions on his face was priceless and I thought he liked it! But then I mentioned something about how I once was considering putting together a book of “children’s” stories, and he said it was a good thing that I didn’t do that. I asked him why and he shrugged. “I mean, you’re not an author. You would have to get someone good to help you. Like….John Green.”

I cried, “I WENT TO SCHOOL FOR ENGLISH WRITING, YOU ASSHOLE!”

He shrugged again and did that nervous laugh he does when he just finished delivering a piping hot truth stew and now he’s going to try and back-peddle and act like he was just kidding. Nothing like being put in your place by your NINE-YEAR-OLD.

(This is the story I let him read. IT WAS PROBABLY JUST TOO ADVANCED FOR HIM.)

I want to go home and have soup. :(

Ugh, I had other things I was going to say, but: SICK-ISH. So I’m going to spend the rest of my late shift shivering under my blanket. I’ll leave you with two pictures of my OK-ish city that I  took yesterday. Now you know what two small parts of my city look like. Wow.

P.S. I just went back and looked at that email again and noticed that “lifesaver” was ITALICIZED — THAT IS HOW MUCH THAT GUY MEANT IT. Doesn’t make me feel any less sick-ish though.

I can’t believe how far I’ve fallen behind with the RIP Glenns. Internet, you must have been stumbling around blindly! HOW HAVE YOU KNOWN WHO DIED?! Anyway, here is a collection of dead celebs from April through September. I’m sure I missed a ton, but sometimes they fly under the radar, OK? I do have other things to do here at work! (Hard to imagine, I know.)

Glenn makes an effortless Rosie the Riveter, doesn’t he?
  

I thought it was pretty bizarre that BB King and Ben E. King died so close together. Unless they planned it that way?!

Mrs. Voorhees! CH-CH-CH HA-HA-HEARTBREAKING. :(

Here’s a rare, behind the scenes look at a sheet of Glenns pre-Glenning, with my dumb fingers in place for scale.

The quintessential Dracula. RIP, OLD FRIEND. (Fun Fact: This is actually what Glenn looks like every day IRL.)

Man, Mary Ellen Trainor had some golden roles in the 80s, but I chose to depict her in all of her broken arm glory as the mom on Goonies. #momgoals

I was a big fan of WWF (I guess it’s WWE now, though?) when I was a kid in the 80s. The Undertaker was my favorite, obviously, and I have super fond memories of splaying out on the floor of the family room, wrestling on in the background and my Lisa Frank stationary fanned out before me. Because that’s when I was also super heavy into penpalling, you guys. I got my first handful of penpals from the back of the Alby’s Big Boy kids menu (there was a section for pen pals, can you believe it!? The 80s were such a darling time—no way would any parent let their child’s name and address be printed and mass-produced on a restaurant menu) and it just spiraled from there.

I’m getting off topic. I started to write all of that in an effort to say that even though I was big into wrestling back then, I don’t really have many memories of Dusty Rhodes. Luckily, Facebook and my co-worker Carrie alerted me to his death. But after staring at his picture long enough, I feel like I really knew the guy. :(

I honestly thought he was already dead. No offense, Sharif estate. Also, I spelled his name wrong because I’m a terrible, ignorant human.

Now THIS is a wrestler I remember! His death was weird because he apparently had just given a statement a few days prior regarding the whole Hulk Hogan fuckarow, and then BAM. Sudden death. :(

This whole Bobbi Kristina situation was plumb fucked, you guys. I was happy to draw Whitney Houston as an angel, though.

THE WORST. I wanted the MTV Scream series to give him more of a tribute than just the measly 10 second In Memory Of they flashed on the screen before the season finale of Scream, but whatever. It’s not like he’s a horror LEGEND or anything.

You know Glenn has a hidden library stocked with Jackie Collins’ entire smutty oeuvre.

I honest to god just can’t with this one. The goddamn Log Lady, you guys. And right when this whole Twin Peaks continuation is about to (hopefully) happen, and she was on board with it. I’m devastated over this and will probably be dressing up as the Log Lady for Halloween, provided that Henry dresses as my log.

I have a Frank Gifford Glenn sitting on my desk, but I don’t like it and want to make a new one. Other than that, now you know most of the important people who have died since April. Basically, if I don’t know who the person is, I don’t make a Glenn. I CAN’T KEEP UP WITH ALL OF THEM!

[As always, if you’re new here, you can read the origin of this project here.]

Remember back when Amber² was about to have a baby at any given moment and we got a temp up in here to ensure that our little group didn’t quit/perish/Donner Party each other while she was out on maternity leave? Allison turned out to be a godsend. She was such a quick learner and eager to work and, most importantly, liked me the best out of everyone. (I mean, DUH.)

Our department tried so hard to keep her, but it didn’t happen. ;(

This is what I felt like the day she told me her assignment was up in two weeks, the day after my dumb birthday:

(I am obviously both Artax and Atreyu in this scenario.)

Even worse? I was on vacation for her entire last week so I didn’t get to pantomime my thoroughly awkward and uncomfortable, however appropriately-timed, farewell. Instead, I had to do it a week early and it looked like I was just being really weird. Like, “Wow. Erin is going to REALLY miss Allison this weekend.” But then it would probably get shrugged off like everything does involving me.

I was going to buy a card but then I was like, “Wait. Der. I make greeting cards for a living.”

(NOT REALLY. I don’t make enough cards to live.) 

So I made her a law firm-y card and glued Glenn versions of our little group within the department:

Obviously, there’s me (FIRST!) with my Cure shirt, crying a bucket of tears. Then we have Amber2 and her baby (WHICH GOT US ALL INTO THIS MESS OF HAVING TO SAY GOODBYE IN THE FIRST PLACE!), Amber1 and her NKOTB shirt! (I had to explain to Glenn what that stood for. What a Lame.) Todd, who does this thing here at work called LINKING (you wouldn’t understand: j/k — I don’t understand) and ALWAYS gets Qdoba for lunch, Dumb Glenn, and GAYLE with her HANKIE. Maybe she should embroider my BIRTHDATE into it so she won’t FORGET it again.

(Did you know Gayle forgot my birthday? Don’t worry—we’ve already had words. I’m almost done being gravely insulted.)

(Although, bringing me a chocolate-covered apple couldn’t hurt.)

Anyway, it was disorienting coming back from vacation and seeing all her stuff gone, BUT I’m happy to report that she is moving on to better things. She better not forget me though!

I will end this with a picture from the one day in April when Allison was still super new and we had cake to rejoice Amber2’s impending due date because I’m in the background looking happy and I’ll tell you why: it was because this was the day Allison thought I was REALLY YOUNG. God what a great day that was.

That was also the day I determined Allison was my new work BFF, much to Wendy’s chagrin.

Also, I cat-faced Amber because it’s like 1 in the morning and I’m not sure she’d appreciate a text from her weird co-worker asking if it would be OK to post her face on my blog.

Also #2: I don’t even know who took this picture.

I saved it from our department page-thing awhile back because my stance was funny.

What kind of a person starts to tell a story of two men, searching to reclaim a long-lost friendship over a workday lunch, and then stops in the middle of it to go on vacation?

An Erin Rachelle Kelly, apparently.

I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch, readers.

(Sometimes when I write on here, I pretend like I’m the Pope standing on a Vatican balcony and the four of you readers have multiplied like Gizmo getting baptized and now there are thousands of you listening to my bullshit stories with salivating stroke-mouths.) But the fact is, NOTHING HAPPENED. I left the invitation on Terry’s desk on my last day at work before vacation, and then waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Glenn came back from lunch that day and said, “So, are you dying of anticipation?”

“WHAT? WHY?!” I cried, swiveling around in my chair to look at him with my wild, manic, IN-THE-MIDDLE-OF-A-SCHEME eyes.

Glenn, looking mildly off-put by my intense reaction, said, “For your vacation…?”

“Oh. That. Yes, I’m dying of anticipation,” I sighed, sad that Glenn wasn’t referring to Terry confronting him about LUNCH.

And then more of the nothing happened. The whole day was just a giant, wasteful, disappointing heap of Nothing wrapped in a bullshit Steelers Snuggie.  WHY DID I EVEN BOTHER?! Terry walked past once, en route to the bathroom, and NOTHING. Not even a sly smirk or confused shrug.

Later in the afternoon, I walked past Terry’s office and casually glanced through the doorway, and you might need to know that This Girl’s definition of “casual” is:

adj. Saucer-eyed, hair-tugging lunacy-state.

Back at my desk, I blurted out, “I JUST SAW TERRY.”

Glenn answered, “Ok. And?”

“HE WAS ON THE PHONE.”

“Ok.”

I had to pause and wipe away the tears with the back of my hand and re-learn how to breathe without sucking back in my giggles.

“MAYBE HE WAS MAKING…..A LUNCH RESERVATION!” And then the psych ward laughter tumbled out of my mouth and fell into my hands and I had to blanket my head again.

Glenn’s response to this was some variation of “WTF.”

And then he got up to leave for the day.

“Have a good vacation,” he mumbled.

“HAVE A GOOD LUNCH WITH TERRY!” I blurted out in my signature bray, which oftentimes leaves people wondering if I’m having a true medical seizure and should we call 911 or nah?

Then I went on vacation. I checked in with Amber² and Allison last Thursday, but they said that no lunch plans or awkward conversations or friendship bracelet swaps had gone down in my absence.

But then on Friday, Amber said that she finally broke down and asked Glenn if Terry had said anything to him about the invitation. Glenn was clueless so Amber showed him the picture of the invitation on my blog and of course he was like WTF. So then a dialogue was finally opened and Terry brought the invitation over to show Glenn. Amber texted me this picture and it made me squeal in the middle of Savannah:

I wasn’t sure if Terry would appreciate having his mug posted on the Internet;  maybe he’s wanted in one of those Dakota parts for scalping Michael Buble tickets. We don’t talk very often so I’m not sure that I could rely on my go-to Bambi-like eye blinks while adorably cupping my chin with my hands. This usually gets me out of all the pickles and jams, but for all I know, Terry hates adorable things.

I sure do love pickles and jams.

Today was my first day back to work after vacation and we all got to laugh heartily about the Lunch Invitation.

I like to look at it as a real team building exercise and it’s shocking that I still haven’t been promoted to Law Firm Camp Counselor.

“Didn’t you wonder why I was acting so crazy last Friday?” I asked.

“Not really,” Glenn shrugged. “I thought you were just being simple.”

Remember last week when I briefly mentioned that I was trying to orchestrate a beef between Glenn and his work-bro Terry? Well, the feud has gone on long enough, the tension is palpable, and someone needs to facilitate a reconciliation.

I guess that someone has to be me.

“Glenn,” I started earlier today after seeing Terry angrily storm past on the way to the restroom. “Do you and Terry ever, you know, like….go to lunch together?” I blurted out, a torpedo of giddiness following close behind.

“No,” Glenn casually answered, and then he stiffened a little and asked, “Why? What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I cried in the Bobcat Goldthwait voice I adopt when I’m reaching the point of psych ward hysterics. I had to cover my face with my blanket, tried to suffocate the giddiness out of myself.

***

Later in the afternoon, after Glenn had left for the day, I was in the kitchen making coffee.

“What’s up, Erin?” Terry asked, walking by to fill up his water glass.

It’s a wonder I was able to utter my monosyllabic greeting without spraying his face with my alarming brand of laughter.  I had become distracted with actual work things after my exchange with Glenn about lunching with Terry, but now the subject was back on my radar.

I speed-walked back to my desk and pulled out the ransom note kit that my old office-neighbor Patrick had bought me for .25 cents at a yard sale. (“I saw it and it had your name written all over it!” he said proudly.)

Each sticker made me giddier and giddier until I was flat out ugly-laughing alone at my desk. People have come to know this as my “I’m doing something” laugh.

Amber-I Don’t-Have-Time-For-This-Bullshit-Now-That-I’m-A-Mom² turned around in her chair and asked, “What are you doing?” So I got up and showed her my finished product:

“You’re so weird,” she sighed, but I could tell she thought this was the greatest thing ever. Todd was 100% on board with this too and we spent the rest of the afternoon speculating how we were going to get the invitation  to Terry, and what the outcome would be. I even considered making them a reservation at McDonald’s or 7-11, but best to make sure they’re both willing to take the next step in repairing their friendship first before wasting a perfectly good reservation, I guess.

“I’m just going to make Gayle do it,” I decided, after attempting to walk it over to Terry’s mail slot on my own and only getting as far as Allison’s desk (like, four feet away from where I started) before I had to stop and do the pee squat because I was laughing so hard.

Allison was just like, “Ohmygod.” In that moment, she may have been a little relieved that her temp assignment is coming to an end soon.

:(

A few minutes later, Gayle started to walk past on her way back from her break and I stopped her with an urgent, “GAYLE.” Then I thrust the invitation at her said, “GO PUT THIS IN TERRY’S MAIL SLOT BUT DON’T LET ANYONE SEE YOU FOR CHRIST’S SAKE.”

Or something like that. There was a lot of ringing in my ears. It was hard to hear myself.

But then before I left for the day, I panicked that Terry wouldn’t check his mail slot tomorrow because none of us ever do, really, so I jogged over to his side of the department like a thief in the night and snatched it. I took it to Gayle’s desk with explicit instructions to wait until everyone left for the day (Gayle works late shift every day) before leaving it on his desk.

She texted me later and said that he was on late shift today so she wasn’t able to deliver it! UGH. “Don’t panic,” I texted back. “I have a plan.” I’m going to make sure it finds its way onto his desk tomorrow after I get there, that way, I won’t miss all the excitement when he rushes over to tell Glenn that he’s missed him, too.

Maybe they’ll go to Szmidt’s, with Gayle as a chaperone, and get some gross meat sandwich loaded with sauerkraut. It’s going to be so great. I love bringing people back together, especially people who had no idea that they were ever together, or not together, in the first place.

On my break today, I was looking at Warped Tour pictures (when aren’t I?) and I got really excited when I found this one (even though I’ve seen like 87 variations of it already)!

“Glenn, LOOK, OMG!” I cried, moving to the side so that he could see my computer screen.

“OK,” he mumbled dourly.

“I’m so excited!” I sighed with my hands on my chest.

“Why?” he asked snidely.

“Uh, because it’s BRADLEY SCOTT WALDEN from EMAROSA hanging UPSIDE DOWN FROM THE STAGE and I get to see him do that NEXT WEEK!” I answered angrily because WHY DOESN’T HE GET IT.

“OK,” he said again, and then his eyes disappeared from the top of his desk, signifying that he was done with this conversation.

***

“I really gave Glenn a great opportunity to connect with me,” I whined to Amber¹ later. “It could have been a real bonding moment.”

“Aw,” she said sympathetically. “Maybe next time you should talk about lawn mowing. That would probably work.”

UGH, JUST FORGET IT.

A Lot Of Fuss Over Salt

Amber¹ came back from GNC today and, in the style of Vanna White, showed Glenn, Todd, and me the big honkin’ bottle of Pink Himalyan salt she bought.

“It’s like the new weight loss fad,” she explained, telling us about some detox thing she read about it. She said it’s hard to find now in stores because so many people are buying it, but I got excited because we have some of that at home!

“I guess Henry was trendy before everyone else!” I laughed. Then I paused and thoughtfully added, “You know, Henry has all kinds of weird salt in the kitchen…”

“Well, he cooks, doesn’t he?” Glenn snapped. “That’s why he has salt.”

Glenn and Todd started chirping about how salt is salt and there is no way that this pink shit is any better, but I had to back up Amber on this one because I just recently sprinkled some of those pretty crystals on my diet popcorn and it was great. “It really does taste better,” I insisted. “Probably because it’s pink.”

“So, you can taste colors now?” Glenn sneered. Then he immediately emailed our group a link to some article about how Pink Himalayan salt IS A SCAM.

YEAH WELL YOU’RE A SCAM, GLENN.

Amber asked me if I wanted any of her salt. “Sure, why not,” I shrugged, holding out an open palm. Walking back to my desk with a handful of freshly ground pink crystals, I said, “I feel like this is a designer drug.” I bet Jonny Craig would do it.

Glenn declined Amber’s offer. “I know what salt tastes like,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, but this is PINK,” I reminded him.

“Sorry, I can’t taste color,” he said.

Is Turkey Meat?

“Do you eat turkey bacon?” Amber called over to me from her desk. “Wait, is turkey meat?”

God, someone’s high on salt!

Papa’s On Death Row

“The Boston Marathon bomber got the death sentence,” Todd announced to us later in the afternoon. “Wow, and he’s only 21,” he said in a “that’s a damn shame” tone.

“He’ll be in there for a long time, though,” Glenn chimed in.

“Yeah, my penpal has been on death row since the 90s,” I said in my normal cheerful work tone (i.e. my “fake voice,” as Henry calls it), getting up from my desk to go on my lunch break. This allowed me to see Todd’s face as he quietly said, “Oh, for real?”

“You don’t seem very shocked that she has deathrow pen pal,” Glenn laughed.

“Oh, pen pal?!” Todd exclaimed, laughing. “I thought she said ‘papa’ at first and I was like, ‘wow, awkward’.” He told me later that for about 20 seconds, his mind was full of speeding thoughts, like, “I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S SO OPEN ABOUT THIS” and “OH GOD I WANT TO ASK HER WHAT HE DID!

”

I legitimately had to walk out because I was crying real tears from laughing so hard. I made a pit stop to the bathroom before going outside for my walk, and I sat in the stall laughing so hard that I know it sounded like I was under duress. After this, I proceeded to go outside where I walked around while laughing alone like a crazy person, but no one gave me a second thought because it was 4:00PM on a Friday in downtown Pittsburgh; I looked normal compared to most everyone else.

When I came back in from my break, Todd and I continued talking about our miscommunication.

“For some reason though, the funniest part to me is that you thought I call my dad ‘papa’!” I laughed, imagining myself wearing an apron and picking berries in the Alps while Papa cuts up the kindling. “The only thing my dad is notorious for is being in a Columbia Gas commercial,” I assured him.

What a weird day. I blame the salt.

See also: Waffle Whining

****

In order to raise some extra money for the food drive that the Law Firm is currently embroiled in, our department had a Chinese Auction yesterday. I don’t normally pay attention to these things because most of the items donated always seem to be things I wouldn’t ever use, like spatulas and laundry baskets. (These are standard Chinese Auction things, right? I honestly never look!)

I can tell you for sure that I didn’t bother to participate the last time this happened because I was still in my old position here and pouting literally every day. I remember hearing sounds of mirth and camaraderie coming from my work friends on the Other Side as they admired all of the wares and bought tickets, which made me slump in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. It was Dark Days back then, friends.

And honestly, I probably still wouldn’t have given a shit this time around either, except that I accidentally noticed it.

The best prize in all of the land.

A waffle maker.

I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED A WAFFLE MAKER! Henry is always “eh” about it when it comes up because he knows that I’ll be having him make some lavender fig chia seed monstrosity stuffed with some out of season exotic fruit that needs to be special ordered from a treetop garden in Tasmania.

And not that it comes up a lot, but I do read some bohemian lifestyle blogs for some reason even though I am neither Bohemian nor lifestyle, and they sometimes post photos of post-night, ante meridiem recipes (also known as: breakfast) for their fancy waffle maker sisterwives to say things like “amaze” and “so much yum” to on Instagram. Waffles are the shit. Waffles over pancakes any day. (Only because pancakes often make me sick, though.)

Our new admin person, Carrie, was the point person for the Chinese auction, so after digging out a crumbled dollar bill from my jacket pocket, I strutted to her desk and proudly thrust it at her in exchange for a ticket. Glenn, having heard my cries of waffle ecstasy, bought FIVE TICKETS and said he was going to put them all in the waffle maker raffle bag! AND THEN APPROXIMATELY EVERY OTHER PERSON IN THE DEPARTMENT DID THE SAME.

AND THEN GLENN BOUGHT FIVE MORE TICKETS!

This waffle maker was a hot commodity. I felt a little relief knowing that there were two of them being auctioned off, at least. Two winners. MAYBE I WOULD BE ONE.

But then something terrible happened. Amber AG¹ declared that she too wanted to win the waffle maker. This could ruin our friendship, I thought to myself nervously.

And then LOU bought some tickets from Carrie and I overheard him tell her that he wanted the waffle maker and I got so enraged. He’s already my least favorite analyst! (Don’t worry, he knows. I told him.)

“They’re both broken,” I shouted, trying to deter him. He just laughed and walked away with his Cheater Tickets and I was 100% wringing my hands at this point. Literally everyone wanted the waffle maker. Who even knows what else was over there! WAFFLE MAKER.

Glenn spent the rest of the day taunting me mercilessly. He said if he won, he was going to sell it, just not to me. Meanwhile, Amber was way more upbeat about her desire to win and was over at her desk practically singing “I want the waffle maker” to the tune of New Kids On the Block. This was in stark contrast to how  I was expressing myself, which was by moping, whining, and panicking about my odds all day. 

I just knew I was going to lose. I never win these things!

Stop pouting, I told myself. Maybe out loud, even. The drawing hadn’t even started yet and I already had myself losing. I went outside for a walk to cool off a little, and I called Henry.

“Never mind,” I said with a big sigh as soon as he said hello.

“Never mind what?” he asked tentatively.

“Just forget it,” I sighed Eeyore-ishly.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” he asked.

“IfIwonawafflemakerwouldyouuseit?” I blurted out in an auctioneer’s cadence.

“I mean, I guess,” Henry slowly answered, waiting for the other shoe to fall. And then I started gushing about the day’s events, and how I remembered that I actually brought my wallet that day and I had FIVE MORE DOLLARS to buy more tickets, and then Wendy felt so much pity for me that she put a ticket in the waffle maker bag too, even though she has a scar on her arm from a hotel waffle iron and basically never wants to look at one again, and then I begged Gayle to put in a ticket for me, too, and she originally said no but then I was like GAAAAAAYLE!!! and so she did it and OMG I’M GOING TO LOSE AREN’T I?!

Henry didn’t have much to say about this. Apparently, when I call him at work, he’s actually working, and doesn’t have “time” to care about my “problems.”

Back in the office, Carrie sent out an email saying that the first drawing was going to happen at 2:30. Glenn was all Glennish about this because he leaves at 2:30 everyday. I could barely hear his bitching overtop of my own pitiful wails of, “I WANT THAT WAFFLE MAKER SO BAD! I’M GOING TO PEE MY PANTS! OMG MY STOMACH HURTS.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, if I win the waffle maker, you can have it,” Glenn mumbled, slapping his tickets on my desk on his way out.

“SERIOUSLY?!” I cried.

“Yeah. I don’t want to have to hear about it if you lose,” he grumbled. I wonder what he put his other tickets in for. Probably this old army lunch box thing that someone donated.

At 2:31, Sue came over with two bags and had Carrie and Allison pick a ticket out of each one.

One of them was for the first waffle maker.

I was bouncing from foot to foot in anticipation, clutching all of my tickets in my hands. (The winning number for each item was emailed to the whole department, so no one but me bothered to actually go over and watch this happen.)

Allison drew in her breath and turned away from me a little.

“What?” I asked nervously.

Then Carrie looked at the ticket that Allison drew and she made a strangulated noise as well.

“WHAT? IS IT MINE?!” I yelled, knowing that it probably wasn’t because they didn’t know what numbers I had. So it must have been someone who wrote their name on the back. OH GOD PLEASE BE GLENN! I prayed. And then I felt gross for rooting for Glenn.

“It’s Amber,” Carrie said quietly.

DON’T BE A SORE LOSER, ERIN. GO SIT DOWN AND BE A GROWN-UP, ERIN. THERE IS STILL ANOTHER WAFFLE MAKER, ERIN.

Amber was so happy that she won, and I wanted to be happy for her too! I really did! When she walked past me to claim her prize, she stopped cheering and said, “Aw, but I feel bad!”

“IT’S FINE,” I tried to say in a happy, supportive tone but it came out through gritted teeth because OMG WHY AM I SUCH A BRAT. “I never win anything anyway, so I’m used to it,” I added just in case I hadn’t already come off as an industrial-sized, leaking douchebag.

WHY AM I SUCH A CRYBABY. There were no less than 87 moments that day when I floated outside of my body and looked down upon myself, frowning in disappointment. I guess, at least I’m aware?

A few minutes later, I went to get something off the printer and ran into Carrie, who was making copies. “Hey,” she said. “If you don’t win the other one, I’ll bring one in for you. I have one in my kitchen that I never use, and I swear you can have it. It’s not as fancy as this one, but it’s still good.”

And at this moment, I realized that I needed to stop thinking of Carrie as “Barb’s Replacement” because she is an awesome lady in her own right and has seamlessly fit right into our department in less than two weeks. CARRIE, YOU CAN STAY.

Seriously, that was a really touching moment. Until you remember that this was all over A WAFFLE MAKER.

A.WAFFLE.MAKER.

I mean, waffles are the motherfucking jam, but are they worth this much drama? Probably not. But I was already up to my neck in it. Now I had to see this through. I shouldn’t have let myself drift off into all of the daydreams about opening a waffle stand in my front yard, mass-producing edible Frisbees (Waffbees? Frisfles?), costing Henry an arm and a leg in upscale waffle ingredients and a camera upgrade because you can’t eat fancy waffles without photographing it on a stained pallet surrounded by baby’s breath and monogrammed-stamped baby forks.

I was really getting ahead of myself. Goddammit.

Throughout the afternoon, more drawings took place, but there was so much time in between each one that it felt like when you’re taking a test in school and all you can hear is the methodic, amplified ticking of the clock.

Wendy ended up winning the weird army lunch box thing, and I have no idea why she even put in any tickets for that. It was probably just her against Glenn. And then Patrick basically won everything else because he’s a baller and bought like an entire spool of tickets.

Todd came back from lunch before the final waffle maker was won, and he asked me with faux-interest if anyone had won them yet.

It was hard to push the words out around my big, pouty bottom lip, but I somehow mustered the strength to tell him that Amber had won the first one.

“All that was missing was the trumpets,” I said melodramatically, and Todd started laughing. And then he said something along the lines of, “There, there. You still have one more chance.”

Right before the end of the day, Sue walked over to Amber’s desk with the waffle maker ticket bag and told her since she won the first one, she had to draw the ticket for the second.

“Oh no, Erin’s fate is in my hands!” she said, and I was so nervous that I got up and walked around. I DIDN’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW, YOU GUYS.

Sue gave the drawn ticket to Carrie, who in turn sent out the email to the department. I figured it was going to be Patrick, since he had a billion tickets in each bag.

And then I heard, “OMG I WON THE SECOND ONE TOO!”

My first reaction was: WAH!

My second reaction was: OMG CAN I HAVE IT!!!???

“Can I give it to Erin?” Amber asked Carrie, who shrugged and said she didn’t give a basic fuck.

“SERIOUSLY?!?!?!” I screamed as Amber passed it off to me like the goddamn Olympic torch.

“Yeah, I don’t need two!” she laughed. “Now we can both have one!”

AND THAT IS HOW WE WERE ABLE TO LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

Allison was just like, “Wow. What a relief.” I keep forgetting that she is still relatively new. We must look like a gang of fucking imbeciles to her.

“Wait. There’s something I have to do,” I said, and I walked over to Lou’s office with my waffle maker. “I just wanted you to see what I looked like holding the waffle maker,” I gloated, and he kind of hung his head a little and told me I’m mean.

SORE LOSER AND SORE WINNER. That’s me.

But don’t feel too bad for Lou, because the last drawing of the day was for the biggest prize of all: a hug from Ethan, who absolutely hates hugs. And Lou won! He seemed happier with that than he would have been with a waffle maker. Me? I preferred the waffle maker because I, too, hate hugs.

Here’s a picture of my reflection while waiting for the elevator, with my WAFFLE MAKER IN MY ARMS! Amber, you are the best! We should have a waffle party!

****

When I got into the car after work, Henry did one of his patented mirthless-laughs and shook his head. “Great,” he mumbled.

I quickly relayed the day’s events to him and he said, “Were you a sore loser? Why am I asking. I know you were.”

Later that night, Henry, upon realizing that he had never even heard of the brand, googled the company’s name and discovered that it doesn’t even exist outside of eBay.

Buy It Now: $6.95.

I bought $6 worth of tickets, and I probably would have had to also pay for shipping, so all in all it’s still a deal if you ask me.

“It’s probably going to burn down the house,” Henry mumbled.

I’m going to use the FUCK out of this thing. And by that, I mean that I’m going to search the FUCK out of the Internet for waffle recipes to send to Henry.

****

In case you were wondering how the winning hug played out, here’s a video! A group of us gathered around noon and formed a big circle around Lou and Ethan, so it was like they were inside of a hug while hugging. It was fucking precious.

Apologies to all of my co-workers who probably have a waffle aversion after all of this. It escalated pretty quickly.

I can only imagine how disgruntled this waffle ordeal would have made the other Amber if this happened before she went on maternity leave. I can practically hear her saying, “Oh for God’s sake!”

Time for a RIP Glenns winter dump! If you’re asking yourself, “WTF is a RIP Glenn?” then please refer to this informative link that is sure to leave you amazed. And then if you’re still like, “OK but WTF is a GLENN?!” then might I direct you back to this Glenn Origins blog post?

OK, onward fat girl.

First up is ROD TAYLOR. I was like, “Oh” when I heard he died, but BARB was all, “YOU HAVE TO DO A ROD TAYLOR GLENNNNNN” so I went with his role in The Time Machine, because why not choose something stupidly detailed to recreate on a tiny face.

IT’S GLENN’S PARTY AND HE’LL CRY IF HE WANTS TO! Just like he did when he found out his favorite singer Lesley Gore died. Actually, he didn’t know who she was until I sighed and started naming off song titles and even then, I think he just pretended to know to get me to stop talking.

Not to sound like a callous asshole, but this Ken Weatherwax Glenn was pretty fun to make.

I know this seems incredibly unbelievable, but I am a super die hard fan of The Real World, and its drama-filled spin-off The Challenge. So when I heard that Diem Brown had succumbed to cancer last fall, I cried real tears, to the point where Henry was like, “This might be a problem.” I mean, I was crying about it at work. And then Amber1 told me  to go and read what her off-and-on boyfriend, fellow Challenge competitor CT had written about her and I was just a mess. Diem was such an inspiration. And yes, I watched the MTV tribute show. And cried some more. (OK, a lot more.)

NOOOOOO NOT EDWARD HERRMANN!!! My two favorite Herrmann roles are Richard Gilmore in The Gilmore Girls and MAX FROM THE LOST BOYS, AHHH. So I went with Max. Glenn was like, “Oh.” Because he’s an idiot and has never seen The Lost Boys. Just re-looking at this RIP Glenn makes me really want to just leave work right now and start my Lost Boys painting.

Um, can we all agree that Glenn should wear his nonexistent locks in pigtails every damn day?

THIS IS WHY I DON’T JAY WALK!!!!

According to Facebook, it seems like Glennard Nimoy is the uncontested fan favorite.  I was never into Star Trek, but this was sad even for a non-fan. Sorry the Glenn is all out of focus; I use gel pens and sometimes that makes photographing difficult. I need to build a better studio at my desk here at work, clearly. Everyone knows that making these Glenns is like, the most important part of my job. In fact, Glenn, Amber “Get this Baby Out of Me” 2, and I are all moving our desks tomorrow and the very first thing I did in preparation of this last week was to delicately move all of the Glenns down to our new quadrant. Now they can be seen by fresh eyeballs! Most people didn’t even know the Wall of Glenns existed because of how tucked away our current desks are. Well, NOW THEY WILL KNOW.

Otherwise known as: BARB’S LAST DAY, UGH^TM.

I actually dreaded coming into work yesterday, and not just because it was Monday. I know it might seem melodramatic, all the tribute posts last week and me being a general crybaby about change, but the shock of Barb’s resignation has really impacted a lot of us here. I can honestly say that if not for Barb, I’m not sure I would have lasted this long at The Law Firm. I had always been pretty firmly against working downtown and when I was called in for an interview here five years ago, I almost didn’t go.

Seriously. I literally ran back into the house and flung myself on the bed, in full-fledged pout mode. But Henry was like, “YOU NEED TO GET A JOB BECAUSE WE ARE POOR. GO TO THIS FUCKING INTERVIEW OR YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT WARPED TOUR THIS SUMMER!” Ugh, I was so mad about it! And then I set off an alarm trying to get into the department and everyone was staring at me—it was NOT a good start.

But then some lady came around the corner and was all, “Oh are you here for the interview?” (probably what was said, I would imagine; I’m taking liberties here) and then she took me into conference room 10B (which doesn’t even exist anymore) and introduced herself as BARB AND THAT IS THE FIRST TIME I MET BARB YOU GUYS.

So, Barb and Sue interviewed me together that day and it was the first time in years that I actually felt comfortable in an interview, which I mentioned to Barb many months later and she said, “That’s funny because I remember thinking you seemed so nervous!” That’s just my normal demeanor though. I think she knows that now.

Hilariously, I remember being asked what I was doing during the day since I was currently out of work, and I told them I was an “artist.” LOLforever.

Working with Barb was awesome from day one. It didn’t even feel like I was coming to work! And every Monday, I always felt excited to come in and tell her about all the stupid things that happened over the weekend. And holy shit, we would laugh until our faces hurt over the stupidest things.

We were separated in 2012, when I joined a different part of the department (The Dark Side) and was moved to another part of the floor (basically The Saddest Hallway Ever). It was awful. Barb would always try and drop hints to management about how I should be moved back, but we knew deep down that having us split up was a dream for the bosses — we were constantly being reprimanded for talking too much, being too loud, having too much fun, being human. For the next two years, I was so sad and felt like I was rotting away in that glorified office I was stashed in.

Last June, I moved back over to the Good Side of the department, but I was still in another quadrant. And then, halfway through Barb’s Last Day, it was announced that a bunch of us are being moved around–I’M GOING BACK TO MY OLD DESK! ON BARB’S SIDE OF THE FLOOR!

And now she won’t be there. :(

What kind of dumb luck is that?!

She was in Wendy’s office yesterday right before it was time for me to leave, so I opened the door and said, “I just wanted to say—-” and then my words got all  truncated, like “goodbye” was the new “Beetlejuice.” I had to turn around and walk away because I started crying. Then I came back and tried again, and this time I had to stand and face a corner in order to get the stupid words to come out. Then in the span of .05 seconds, I accidentally shut off the lights and poked myself in the eye (an injury which is still plaguing me today, as I type this while wearing only one contact).

JUST AWFUL.*

Ugh.

*Barb leaving. But, also my eye injury. Awful.

***********

Earlier in the day, I presented Barb with her going-away present. I worked on it all weekend and laughed and cried through the whole thing. It’s a painted collection of various Law Firm memories and jokes and she pretty much acted like it was the goddamn Mona Lisa because, duh: it was from ME!

“And I have the only one! No one else has this!” she cried, and I thanked god that Glenn wasn’t within earshot, because I’m sure his kneejerk retort would have been, “And no one else WANTS one.” Although, he did surprise me that morning when I arrived at work with the painting wrapped up protectively in a garbage bag, because I had gone through a mental Rolodex of possible wise cracks he would potential monotone, like, “Pretty convenient that they make actual bags for your ‘art'” or “Oh great, bringing more garbage to work.” But he didn’t! Instead he was like, “That is nice.”

Most of these are explained in last week’s quasi-eulogies for Barb. I think I touched upon Last Mail in this post from last year, but this is the biggie, the one that the whole department gets. Last Mail is a beautiful enigma and I love her. Barb used to be her #1 on our floor, but then Barb made the fatal mistake of canceling lunch plans with her in 2013, and Last Mail iced her out. And you know who stepped in as New #1? THIS GIRL. I told Jeannie and Barb once recently that I imagine Last Mail talks about me at her family dinners, and refers to me as “That little angel.”

Here’s her employee ID photo (this is also how I make my Glenns, and they don’t get much bigger, sorry!):

The guy on the left is this secretary that sends in a lot of audits, which Barb then would have to scan and email back to him, and through this, they cultivated some bizarre fake-friendship, so I had to include him:

The other guy is (not) clearly Bill Paxton, whose face is frustratingly stupid to paint and I was so angry all weekend. Fuck you, Bill Paxton. I might be joining Barb’s team on this one.

And then other odds and ends to show Barb that not only do I retain the things she tells me, I WILL ALWAYS FIND WAYS TO THROW IT BACK IN HER FACE.

*******

Today, her name was still on the pane of glass in front of her desk, so I decided that I was just going to pretend like she’s on vacation. But by the afternoon, someone came down and scraped off her name. I CAN’T STAND IT.

Today’s All About Barb post is going to be an extravaganza of bullet points, links, and photos. Because there is just so much to remember!

Things I’ve Learned About Barb

• Hates most collars, scarves, and other such fashionable garrotes
• Confuses giraffes and zebras
• Pumpkin Spice Lattes make her cry, “Holla!”
• Proud Functional Fixedness sufferer
• Hates Bill Paxton with the blinding fury of 87 million suns
• Is confused by non-American cuisine and doesn’t even know what CILANTRO is, GOD BARB
• The only thing she likes about the Philadelphia Flyers is the broad who used to sing God Bless America at their games a long time ago
• She “doesn’t do” gum
• She has feelings for Pascal Dupuis (he’s a PITTSBURGH PENGUIN if you didn’t know)

Favorite Barb Memories

• When she was super into watching a live feed of this local eagle’s nest. There were three eggs and the whole city was on “egg watch” basically, but Barb was like a maniac over it, like she’s related to them, like she was waiting for her eagle grandchildren to be born. God, get over it, Barb. Anyway, she was all stressed out because it was predicted that the day that the eggs would start hatching was when she was going to be en route to Toronto to visit her brother. “I just know an egg is going to hatch when I’m not around to watch,” she cried. AND SURE ENOUGH, AN EGG HATCHED ON THAT DAY! I saw it on Facebook and was filled with glee that Barb missed it. I got to rub it in her face when she came back to work and it was DELICIOUS. (I mean, the “in-your-face”-isms, not the eagle egg.)
• The time she admitted to me that she almost prevented me from getting hired here, after telling our boss, “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? TWO TIMES. IN YOUR FACE, BARB!
• When the first thing she did after getting a smartphone was download a fart app.

• When Barb yelled at Lee (to her defense, he made an ill-timed, insensitive joke about the Paper Clip Situation at work, which I’m not sure I’ve ever explained on this blog, but it’s really stupid and petty and has Barb and I completely up in arms as it’s mostly directed toward us). Because of this, Lee started calling her Darth Rile and asked me to Photoshop a Darth Riley. Barb of course thought this was great and was trying to email it to her brother, but accidentally sent it to one of the Firm partners in Spokane, who is probably in his 80s and his picture tells us that he probably hasn’t laughed since 1959, presumably while watching Leave It To Beaver. Her face was so red, and so was mine — FROM ALL THE HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER HEATING IT UP. I had to actually get up and run away from my desk because I was losing it so bad. She thought she may have been able to recall the email, but I REALLY REALLY REALLY hope he saw it. I actually hurt my back from laughing!
• Last August, when we let Barb out of our sight for like 3 minutes at Kaitlin’s wedding only to have her rush back over to us with her arm hooked around a man. crying, “LOOK WHO I FOUND! JOE MACHI! FROM LAST COMIC STANDING! ON NBC!!!!” Then she practically chucked her phone at me and made me take her picture with him. It all happened so fast, you guys.

• All the times Barb would fuck up the daily Roll Call emails that the whole department counted on her to send. Sometimes she would have the date wrong, or someone would forget to add their name to the calendar if they weren’t going to be in, and then Barb would look like an asshole. My favorite was the time she tried THREE TIMES to send the correct Roll Call and fucked up each one and then everyone had a filed day sending her corrections, so finally she sent this bitter email to the department: “My apologies for the mix up…..I shall strive to do better in the future.  Thank you all for the heads up on my errors.” And, if you know Barb, you can imagine that she probably broke her keyboard after pounding out that reply. I got so much glee out of ridiculing her on her Roll Call inadequacies and even now, imagining her laying awake at night, feeling the pressure to send a flawless Roll Call email, is making me crack up so bad at my desk.
• When Barb started sending my kid anonymous mail.
• The time Carey offered Barb a box of baked goods, to which Barb responded with, “For future reference, always offer stuff to Erin first.” UGH SHE KNOWS ME SO WELL :(
• When Barb was a part of my Halloween Freak Show desk in 2012!

• The time Barb unwittingly kick-started my apple obsession.
• When Barb held my hand during my first Jury Duty summons.
• This could have been any day, really:

OK, I know I’m forgetting so much and GLENN has done fuck-all to help me with this. So, if you’re a Law Firm person and have a Barb memory to contribute, let me know and I’ll add it here under a special “OTHER PEOPLES MEMORIES” section.

:(