Today’s Barb-post is two-in-one: two times she masterminded creepy surprises-in-a-box for me because one of her main priorities here at The Law Firm was to keep me happy and placated.

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1. Law Firm Lamb Cake

A few months ago, someone was trying to get my work friend Kaitlin to buy a lamb-shaped cake pan that they didn’t need anymore. Included in the email he sent to her was a picture of what the finished product could conceivably look like, so she sent it to Barb and me because it was so horrific-looking.

Of course I took to it immediately and tried to convince her that she really needed this cake pan, in spite of its exorbitant cost.

“Not for that price I don’t!” she assured me.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it though and even found one that was much more reasonably-priced. I didn’t buy it though because I figured it would just be another thing to nag Henry about.

“Clean the house.”

“Do the laundry.”

“Cook my dinner.”

“Propose to me.”

“Put this makeup on.”

“Bake me a fucking lamb cake.”

A lamb cake just might be what it takes to break Henry’s back and leave me single and helpless.

Anyhow, I dropped it, but the use I had for it was always still in the back of my mind.

***

For some reason today, I brought up the fact that Henry dropped the ball for my thirtieth birthday. I have some pretty deep-rooted esteem issues, so this isn’t something that I’ve gotten over yet. Probably won’t, either, without a hearty helping of therapy.

“You couldn’t even get me the only thing I wanted for my last birthday, a fucking black forest cake!” I cried petulantly.

“I couldn’t find anywhere to get one!” Henry yelled back.

“I gave you two months notice that I wanted one! You could have BAKED one, motherfucker.”

I was still bitching about how he didn’t even love me enough to bake me a stupid birthday cake when I arrived at work.

Feeling utterly sorry for myself the whole 10-floor elevator ride, I walked around the corner to my desk only to find a large box with a post-it that said Open Carefully.

“She’s here!” Barb announced, and people started coming out of their offices and crowding around. I couldn’t imagine what was going on.

It wasn’t my birthday.

It wasn’t my workiversary.

Was I getting fired and they were trying to soften the blow?

To throw me off even further, Chris chimed in and asked, “Did you get your hair cut?” and I found myself bracing for another one of Those Episodes where I slightly modify my appearance and everyone swarms around me with spotlights.

Apprehensive is one way to describe how I felt. There were maybe six people watching me expectantly. I reached for the box lid, because that’s what they kept probing me to do, and we all know I do as I’m told. But then Barb commanded me to wait as she hit play on The Whiffenpoof Song, so now not only did I have a surplus of hungry eyes feasting upon me, my every robotically awkward movement was to the tune of singing Muppets.

Please don’t let it be a crappy spreadsheet, I thought, as I eventually buckled and ripped the lid off like a Bandaid.

It took a few good seconds for it to sink it, that awesome pins-and-needles sensation of being sufficiently stunned. Then I laughed. Then I almost cried. Then I laughed some more.

Apparently, this had been in the works for awhile. Barb placed an in-house classified ad and found someone who was willing to lend her the cake pan. Kaitlin baked the cake and then some of my friends here helped decorate.

This, after the babyish argument I had just instigated in the car with Henry. Fuck you, Henry. SOME PEOPLE are willing to bake this bitch a cake. Even now, I keep pausing to look over at it adoringly. People kept suggesting I wrap it up and I was like “I AM NOT COVERING THIS, EVER!” (But apparently it’s because they thought it was actually going to be eaten. As if. I want this thing to petrify and sit on my fireplace mantel for the rest of ever.)

I’m just so unbelievably touched that my friends here would do this. It has officially become so much more than just a lamb cake, and I’m beyond stoked to put my plan into action this weekend. STOKED BEYOND BELIEF.

****

Law Firm Lamb Cake went on to inspire my friend Casey to make a song about it, and it also became an Easter Glenn, too!

ALL BECAUSE BARB PLACED AN AD FOR A LAMB CAKE PAN.

****

Malachi

Came into work today to find a large box beside my desk, all wrapped in a candy cane print. It was from Barb and she told me to open it immediately; within seconds, a small crowd of people privy to the box’s contents had gathered at my desk

I opened it and immediately almost pissed my pants. A few weeks ago, I was at the flea market with Tommy and Jessy and took a picture of this creep-factory of a doll. Of course, by the time I got home that day, I was kicking myself for not buying it. I even checked when I was there two weeks ago with Andrea, but didn’t see it and felt extreme sadness and regret.

Barb knew that I was coveting it and went back and bought it for me for Christmas and I can’t even believe it I am dying of happiness right now punctuation what!?

Of course, everyone was like, “That is so creepy! Why do you want that?!” and then it was fun to watch as they realized they had already answered their question.

Sean came over and caught me cradling my new (old) doll. He shook his head and said, “Hey, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Bridget was like, “OMG THAT’S SO DIRTY HOW CAN YOU PUT THAT SO CLOSE TO YOUR FACE!” or something equally as chastising and oh look she just came back and said, “I wouldn’t touch that if you paid me and I sincerely suggest that you anti-bac your hands.”

Nina and Wendy cried a little bit when they saw it. Mitch and Lee seemed to approve. Chris, who was here when I opened it and looked thoroughly flabbergasted, just walks by now and gives me leery motive-questioning looks.

He fits in so well with all my creepy shit and Jesus pen!

He’s coming home with me this weekend for our annual Christmas picnic in the cemetery, but I think after that, he’ll reside here in The Law Firm. I like the reactions he’s provoked.

This just solidifies what I already knew: Barb is the best co-worker ever and most attentive friend.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

• I just learned that Barb bought this the same day I was at the flea market looking for it.
• I have been carrying it around the department with me and it occurred to me that I am holding it with more natural panache than I have ever held a live baby.

So this one time in January of 2011, I thought it would be a Good Idea to bring in sea monkeys to work. Some people ended up REALLY LIKING THEM, but no one more than Barb, who I think might have imprinted on the horniest one:

Then I made the mistake of showing her the below sea monkey video, which she became obsessed with and just admitted to me today, 4 years later, that she still has it saved to her favorites.

Today’s Barb tribute is about how, even in the wake of sea monkey death, she remains calm and brave, forever our Law Firm rock.

*********

In Memoriam: Sea Monkey #1

May 2011

I wasn’t at my desk for more than ten minutes when I noticed the dead body. 

I always do a quick sea monkey count when I get to work. There have only been four adults for the last few months now, even though two of them have been furiously fornicating off and on. Maybe it’s not hetero sex that I’ve been spectating like someone completely hard-pressed for office porn.

Anyway, today the count dropped to three. The deceased was lying in the middle of the intersection (my sea monkey tank is a miniature city), looking fragile and completely snuffed out. My heart was banging against my ribcage as I prodded it with the feeding spoon, but it only caused its limp body to ride the waves in a decidedly dead fashion.

“Hit and run?” one of my co-workers asked, and I yelled at him for making jokes. TOO SOON.

Wendy encouraged me to scoop him out. I thought it was because she was going to give him a proper burial, but it was actually because she wanted to sniff it and then taunt passing by co-workers with its dead sea carcass.

I took it off of her before she decided to get all Anthony Bourdain and eat it like its some fucking Toys R Us delicacy.

On a Post-It, I laid out its dead body all nice and gently and immediately realized he or she had no name. Barb kept calling it Sea Monkey #1, so I went with that. Sorry for being generic, #1.

I displayed its body on the ledge next to my desk and promptly forgot about it. One of the analysts, Chris, came over and was talking to us. When he walked away, Wendy shouted, “It moved!”

“It’s been resurrected?” I cried excitedly, thinking I could scrape him back into the tank. But then we quickly realized that he hadn’t moved so much as been SMUDGED by Chris’s elbow when he was leaning against the ledge.

Barb said, “Well, he needs to come back here so we can examine his shirt.” She then called him at his office and told him to come back, that it was serious.

Once he found out what was going on, he was pretty annoyed.

All that remains: a tiny balled-up smudge in the upper lefthand corner.

It was absolutely horrific. It’s still sitting up there, festering in the barbaric ball Chris rolled it in like it’s nothing more than some kid’s booger, ready for a’flickin’. So now when mourners come over to say goodbye and wonder why they can’t see #1 in his true, God-given form (though I’m 99% sure God had nothing to do with the creation of sea monkeys; more like some freak scientist pissing around in his mom’s basement), I have to explain over and over again the brutal act starring Chris’s Elbow. 

What a way to be remembered. What a fucking way to be remembered. Goddamn.

Barb then sent out a department-wide email:

It is with deep sadness that we announce the unexpected passing of Erin Kelly’s Sea Monkey #1. 

#1 will lie in state at Erin Kelly’s desk for the duration of the today and all day tomorrow. A brief memorial service will be held at 5:00 pm tomorrow for those wishing to attend.

#1 was a fabulous pet. He (she) never jumped out of his (her) container when the lid was off, a sign that he (she) was mentally stable and had no thoughts of spontaneous suicide. #1 brought pleasure and laughter to our department, and he (she) will be sorely missed.

Please stop by at some point to pay your respects to our lost friend and also to provide words of encouragement to his (her) remaining bowl mates.

RIP, #1 – we will miss you!

I can only imagine that the next step will be to slap his picture on our department Wall of Death. 

Get your 40s ready, my friends.

[Present Day Side Note: The only person who came by to pay his respects was Lee. You tried, Barb!]

This is an oldie-but-goodie from 2011, when Barb practically revealed her secret life as a doula. WHO WILL DELIVER LAW FIRM BABIES WHEN BARB IS GONE? Amber, I guess you’re on your own.

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Waterbreak ’11

It all started around 4:30 on Wednesday. I was REALLY BUSY, working HARD and DILIGENTLY, when Sandy walked over to my desk, looking all pale and scared-rabbit. All I managed to decipher from her hushed tone was “bathroom” and “water broke.

”

I immediately started to panic because we have two pregnant girls in our department, and neither of them should be walking around, breaking water.

But then I heard “travel office” and my compassion dulled a bit, because it was just one of “Those People” who share the same floor as us but aren’t cool enough to be a real part of our department, yet they like to swipe our food when we have parties like that’s going to infuse them with our Awesome.

Sandy, Barb and Sue were all in the bathroom together, probably saying disparaging things about me, when the owner of the broken water called out from behind a stall that she needed someone to get one of the travel office ladies. Right now, I’m picturing the “Fuck off” look that likely had taken over Barb’s face, until she learned that this poor girl was pregnant and splashing around back there in amniotic fluid.

Somehow, Sandy was able to slink back over to my desk to tell me what was happening.

“I’m really bad in emergencies,” she said in a small voice. So now I know that Sandy and I would make the worst superhero team in the history of comic books. In the background of each cell, you’d see Sandy, paralyzed and pale-faced with her emanating fear blending into the gray background, while I’m throwing up all over my cape.

It didn’t take long for a small crowd to form by the bathroom. Kristen stopped by my desk, having just broken through the crowd of birth fans. “I’m the girl you want in an emergency,” she said, all smiles, as if there wasn’t some pregnant lady spilling baby juice all over the department. “But, I’m going to Starbucks!” There’s our third superhero, drinking a latte while the world collapses around her. Sometimes I go out for drinks after work with Kristen and Sandy, and now I’m starting to rethink this. I feel so unsafe!

Meanwhile, Sue was marching all over the floor with her game face on. I’m not sure where she was marching to, but I know it wasn’t to pilfer through Barb’s snack drawer like it usually is. She was going to call 911 but said the girl had asked her not to because she didn’t want to ride in an ambulance.

Sue disappeared around the corner, and I assumed she was going to her office to retrieve her forceps. And Barb was running around, looking for spare clothes to give the girl who was apparently pretty drenched. She was going to steal Wendy’s gym clothes but thought better of it and ended up giving the girl a pair of her own sweatpants.

All this fuss over spare clothes when someone could have just asked Gayle.

 She could have crocheted something right quick with a nice Navajo pattern. She probably would have given the girl matching earrings too, and maybe even thrown in a floral headband for the baby.

DO NOT FORGET THAT SANDY WAS THERE TOO! Barb re-worked the script every time she recounted the bathroom horrors to other co-workers, completely writing Sandy out of it. If you ask me, that’s discrimination against scared people and I don’t think Sandy should stand for it.

I bet when Barb tells her non-Law Firm friends about Waterbreak ’11, it entails her ripping the door right off the bathroom stall and delivering one of “those babies” right then and there with her auxiliary knapsack of obstetric apparati.

Something like an hour had gone by before Sandy finally snapped out of it and realized she had a towel that she could contribute. She walked by later, triumphantly holding up the soggy towel in garbage bag. She was going to take it home as a souvenir, but Sue convinced her to throw it out, which I think is rude because people should be allowed to collect the things they want to collect.

Me? I just sat there and watched all the adults handle business. It was exciting. I’m glad no one asked me to help. I mean, YES—I was a Girl Scout, but the only thing that taught me was how to dance to NKOTB’s “Funky, Funky Christmas” and to Quick! Find a Man to Do Everything For Me. (Couldn’t find a man, but Henry will do.)

Later that evening, the travel lady we dislike the most came over with her scary, soul-piercing eyes to tell us that the girl’s husband had come to pick her up and she was currently en route to the hospital.

“I’m going to have nightmares,” Barb said after the travel lady walked away. She was probably talking about the entire odyssey, but I was still shivering from the icy-penetration of travel lady’s eyes. All I could picture was a stork with travel lady’s head on it, so I told Barb about it in hopes of planting the image into her subconscious and it growing into some gnarly night-terror.

And then, because catastrophes totally wind up my giddy-box, I laughed about this so hard that I started crying at my desk.

[I didn’t want to post this until I knew for sure that everything was OK. Travel Girl had the baby that night; she was 2 months premature, but they are both doing fine. Barb prefaced her email to me about it with: “I know you don’t care, but…” I do care! Kind of!]

1 comment

In honor of Barb’s last full week at The Law Firm, I am going to repost some of my favorite Barb-inspired stories.

Because:

• I can.
• It’s the right thing to do.
• The Penguins would approve.

To start it off, I’m going to share the story about the time Barb had the BEST idea ever.

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Office Rumors

5-16-2013

Today was shaping up to be a pretty ordinary Thursday. I was in a so-so mood when I strolled over to Barb’s desk around 2:30 today for a visit. Nate and Debbie S. were there too, and what we were talking about wasn’t very note-worthy, just some mild banter.

And then Glenn walked by.

“We should start a rumor that Glenn is a lesbian,” Barb said. I don’t recall any overt hysterics from Nate or Debbie over this suggestion, but I fucking DIED.

I was laughing so hard I had to walk away. Then I realized I had walked into a dead-end, so I turned around and had to find the nearest chair to sit in to keep from showering my co-workers with gleeful urination.

“THAT IS THE BEST IDEA EVER!!” I squealed once I was able to speak again. I can totally picture him in a flannel and skinny jeans at a Tegan and Sara show, can’t you?!

So I was walking back to my office-thing and saw Glenn sitting all lesbianly at his desk and I lost my shit all over again. Amber2 looked concerned because when I get this giddy, it oftentimes appears that I am under some sort of duress, the kind of red-hued scrunched-up face one might put on immediately after learning of the death of a loved one or Corey Haim. Unfortunately, this is also my Ugly Laugh face.

I tried to explain to her what was going on, but this only resulted in my having to SQUAT DOWN and bury my face in my arms. Every time I opened my mouth to talk, I could only manage to vomit out incomprehensible, muffled sounds.

“I’ll just email you!” I wheezed. Even better is that there is a new processor who just started last week and she sits right in front of Amber2, which is unfortunately pretty close to me, so she gets to overhear all sorts of weird things that may or may not have something to do with weird things and me.

This uncontrollable laughing alone carried on for over an hour without reprieve (for me or those in direct vicinity of me). And then I started telling more and more people (most of whom were like, “That is not really that funny”) so eventually, Glenn was all, “Ha-ha, what is going on?”

This only made the remainder of my sanity expire in a mushroom-cloud explosion of tears and laughter and I had to literally run away from him.

Finally, I emailed him and said, “Barb just wanted to know if you like the Indigo Girls” which confused him even more.

I can’t even look at him now without hearing “Come To My Window” in my head. I tried to get my friend Natalie, whose office is right next to Glenn’s desk, to walk by him while singing the chorus but she was just like, “I hate you.”

I printed this out and taped it to his desk.

This is the best rumor ever! Does anyone have an “L Word” DVD I can put on his desk?

It all started with an innocent trip to Eat n Park after work last week. I worked late shift that night, so it was already well past 8 by the time Henry, Chooch and I got there. I couldn’t help but notice that the room we were seated in was full of older couples on dates. I could tell it was a date, and not just a casual “I don’t feel like cooking, let’s go out to eat” because every older person seemed smitten with their older person companion. In fact, one of the older person couples even sat on the same side of the booth and shared a plate from the salad bar. Every so often, male older person would lean over and kiss female older person on her temple. It was all at once endearing and nauseating, and I struggled to take a picture of them, eventually managing a slick under-the-table shot.

Another older couple arrived right before we left, and thank god because otherwise I might have died not knowing the precise way the female older person orders her side of broccoli (a double serving, extra-steamed so the florets are on the threshold of disintegration).

I couldn’t stop giggling about this, all these old people hitting the town (well, Dormont anyway) after hours on a Thursday night.

“It’s like a Boz Scaggs concert just let out!” I texted to some friends, along with the pictures. The responses varied from “I don’t know who that is” to “Is that some old singer, I guess?” to “*radio silence*”.

Was my inner old person showing? Or WAS I JUST IMAGINING THAT BOZ SCAGGS EXISTS? I could hear myself saying his name. Boz Scaggs. Boz Scaggs. Bozzzzzz SCAGGsssss. It was sounding more and more foreign until eventually it just sounded like a frog ribbitting under water.

I tried to defend myself, plead my case by insisting that “if you’ve ever been in a grocery store, you’ve probably heard a Boz Scaggs tune at least once in your life” while willing myself to conjure up in my mind my mom’s Boz Scaggs record that I know I used to play in the basement of my parent’s house, didn’t I? DIDN’T I?! JOJO?!

I mean come on: “Lido Shuffle”? “Lowdown”? “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME”!??!?! That was a staple on all of my soft rock mix tapes when I was in high school! BOZ SCAGGS IS REAL.

And then my music-loving friend Terri rescued me from my self-doubt, because she too, has a space in her heart for his smooth yacht rock tracks. Then after Janna and I went to see Birdman on Friday, I made her listen to Boz Scaggs songs on my phone until she finally exclaimed, “Oh, OK! Yeah, that guy. He’s real.” And then she wouldn’t stop singing “Lido Shuffle” which made Chooch irritable.

***

Sunday morning, I awoke to “Lowdown” playing on my bedroom radio. No joke, there it was, wafting out of the dusty speakers like it was no big deal, just another Boz Scaggs Top 40 hit to stuff a Taylor Swift and Bruno Mars sandwich. I’ve been listening to a variety-type station in my room lately because of my penchant for nostalgic earworms and soft rock’s natural ability to ease me into a sweet slumber, even if it means having to tolerate the occasional current pop hit. How else do you guys think I get to hear Laura Branigan’s “Gloria” approximately twice a week? (Seriously, that station LOVES to play that song for some reason.)

Anyway, I excitedly texted Janna and Terri that “Lowdown”  was on. And laying there in bed, taking in the jazzy trumpets and silky background vocals, I started to draw some comparisons to Steely Dan, another band I loved so much when I was growing up thanks to my step-dad, and even got to see them once about 15 years ago and it was amazing. (I had to choose between them and Yes! It was a hard choice.) So I spent a good chunk of my afternoon listening to Steely Dan, and then Emerson Lake and Palmer, and I really started to feel like I needed to grow a beard, put on a white leisure suit, and steal away into the night in my Chevy Van.

Somewhere during this time, Terri texted me and said that “Lido Shuffle” was on in the grocery store she was in! I started freaking out about this, and Henry was like, “Calm down. It’s not that exciting.” BUT IT FELT LIKE I WAS PSYCHICALLY WILLING BOZ SCAGGS TO SURFACE!

And then, this is the weirdest part, that evening Henry and I put on Breaking Bad. We’re way behind and only on season two so DON’T TELL ME ANYTHING. But in this particular episode, Walt is having breakfast with his family, and he starts talking about music with his son, and is appalled that his son has never heard of Steely Dan. I started laughing, since I had been revisiting Steely Dan earlier that day. Henry was like, “Whatever, not that big of a deal.” OK, just watch this:

 MY HEAD NEARLY SHORT-CIRCUITED. I literally jumped off the couch and was shouting, “REALLY? REALLY?!” and Henry mumbled, “OK that’s kind of weird.”

Anyway, this is all a really long-winded way to tell you that after looking through Boz Scaggs albums all weekend, my new Glenn Defacing Project involves Glennifying RECORD ALBUMS!

IT’S ALMOST LIKE BOZ SCAGGS POSED FOR THIS PICTURE PURPOSELY KNOWING THAT GLENN’S HEAD WOULD ONE DAY SO PERFECTLY REPLACE HIS OWN!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have the day off work, which I am now going to fill with more dreamy yacht rock until later tonight when Pierce the Veil blows my heart out of my chest. Don’t judge.

Gayle is off today and of all people, GLENN is taking her late shift which sucks because today is also MY late shift day, UGH UGH UGH. In order to make this less painful (for me), I decided to live blog it. Apologies in advance.

11:54AM: Just got here a few minutes ago and was dismayed to see Glenn was already here and not late. I really wanted him to be late. Anyway, I asked him if he was ready for our Big Late Shift and he said he’s heavily medicated so I guess that’s just the long way of saying yes. Then Pregnant Amber turned around and said that this was going  to be the most boring live blog ever because Glenn is boring so I’ll probably just make stuff up if I have to.

11:56AM: Glenn was rummaging through a plastic bag and now I think he might be eating yogurt. Probably some dumb flavor too, like prune.

12:15PM: Just had a semi-civil conversation with Glenn about an audit. It was OK.

12:21PM: Non-Glenn related, but Amber just went to get her glasses fixed. She was supposed to get them fixed yesterday but when she got to the eyeglass place, she realized SHE BROUGHT AN EMPTY CASE WITH HER. Oh, the trials and tribulations of Pregnant Amber! She was telling Glenn about this and said something about how I was laughing about it yesterday or something, she couldn’t remember and Glenn was all, “Basically, you just heard noise, right?” Shut up.

12:38PM: Several people mentioned the live-blogging thing in passing but I don’t think Glenn fully understands what is taking place here. I’m reminded of this time in elementary school, probably 5th grade, when I had this tiny forest green notepad and I decided it would be fun to essentially spy on my classmates—it basically turned into some weird analog TMZ of its time, because my friends started to find out about it and then everyone wanted to read it, especially because there was an entry in it about Mike Harrison calling the lunch lady MRS. GLUMAC a bitch during recess and then HITTING HER IN THE FACE WITH A KICK BALL AND BREAKING HER GLASSES! This was a big deal, kids getting to not only hear a swear but also READ a swear all in the same day, can you believe it. I’m going to call Pregnant Amber “Amber GLUMAC” today since she has broken glasses too. I don’t think hers broke in such a violent way though.

1:01PM: Barb just sent an email to the department because the printers are getting switched, whatever that means. “What an exciting day!” I exclaimed, to which Glenn mumbled, “Isn’t it, though.”

1:29PM: Amber GLUMAC is back with her glasses! She said she didn’t check them to see if they’re actually fixed, though, so I’m hoping they sent her on her way with the wrong pair because I really can’t stand to think of this saga being over. Plus I haven’t had a chance to call her Amber GLUMAC enough times. Then we were talking about the Mattress Factory because Corey and I are going there tomorrow and Amber was like, “You should take Glenn too” and then he mumbled something about how terrible of an idea that was and how that place sounded dumb. Because ew culture gross. And then I showed him a picture of the orange juice accident Henry had this morning at work, and Glenn giggled (YES GIGGLED) and said “Oh shit.” I’m breaking through, you guys!

(Henry’s Orange Juice Accident. Maybe he will guest post about this!)

1:40PM: It appears that Amber¹ is getting some sort of advice from Amber GLUMAC and I wish that she would come back and talk to me about it too so that Glenn can pipe up with some type of curt advice in the style of Ron Swanson. OMG GLENN’S CELL PHONE JUST RANG AND HIS RING TONE IS SOME SORT OF METAL-SOUNDING GUITAR SNIPPET and I asked him what it is and he said he doesn’t know?!?!?! I believe it was “Crazy Train.”

2:51PM: Glenn just took care of something work-related before Amber GLUMAC even had to tell him to do it and now she just thinks he’s so great and totally on-the-ball and I’m trying not to puke up my Smart Ones over here. Meanwhile, we have no printers to use thanks to BARB’s boyfriend The Copier Fixer, who decided to come in like gangbusters, no warning, and “switch the printers” which I think I found out literally means he is switching the printers.

2:55PM: I am going to the kitchen to open my orange. Be back in like 20 minutes. (It takes me a while.) NEVER MIND!! I’m still here because I got a breaking news text from ESPN which I read out loud to Glenn: “Tiger Woods shoots a career-worst 82 at Waste Management Phoenix Open, missed cut in second straight event.” So then we had a pleasant conversation that I will title The Sucking of Tiger Woods, and we both commented on what a horrible name for a tournament Waste Management is. “I’m playing in the Garbage Bowl, yippee” Glenn monotoned but I think he was actually trying NOT to monotone for once? And then I said, “He’s no Phil Mickelson” and now I’m going to excuse myself because I have an appointment with an orange in the kitchen.

4:09PM: PRINTER UPDATE!! The printers have been effectively switched, but now some of our print jobs are being sent to different floors. I nominate Glenn to be the print job liaison. GO GET OUR PRINTED THINGS, GLENN. GO, GLENN, GO.

4:38PM: Barb, bless her heart, tried to host an impromptu intervention at her desk. She told Glenn that he just needs to open his mind to my amazing-ness and his face turned a little green. In other news, I had to tell Barb that various print jobs are being routed to other floors and I’m pretty sure she’s going to quit her job and learn to live off the land. When the printers were being switched earlier, she was swearing profusely and practically speaking in tongues and then she yelled, “Put THAT in your live blog!” Yikes.

4:42PM: I just noticed that Amber GLUMAC is wearing her glasses so I guess they’re OK. How anti-climatic. She didn’t even make a big production of putting them on.

4:59PM: “Hello? ‘Sup.” — how Glenn answers his phone.

6:38PM: Two more hours to go! I tried to get Barb to smuggle me out with her a few minutes ago but she’s cruel and told me to basically suck it up. This night is almost as boring as when Amber GLUMAC was telling us the story about how her dryer is broken, which is less of a story and more of just a fact, and I was sitting here thinking, “Wow, this is a really boring conversation about household appliances” when meanwhile, Glenn was hanging on to her every word, and asking her questions about the drum and some other things and since we’ve been pretty slow tonight, I’m pretty positive that Glenn is sitting behind me, googling “DRYER PARTS” and looking for people on Craigslist with broken dryers so that he has fodder for his weird appliance fantasies. I think he was trying to bait Amber into asking him to fix the dryer for her, to be honest.

6:48PM: ALERT! ALERT! GLENN IS GOING TO GET HIS KEYS! He has to go down to the big scary parking garage so I told him to be careful but then I started laughing because like I care if he gets devoured by a parking garage troll.

7:11PM: Glenn has been furiously typing behind me. WHAT IF HE HAS HIS OWN BLOG AND HE’S LIVE BLOGGING ABOUT ME. “7:10PM: Dumb Erin just twirled her stupid hair again.” IT IS A NERVOUS HABIT OK. I actually recently read that there’s a psychological disorder associated with manic hair touching/twirling/braiding/tugging. If that’s true, then I’ve got it.

7:29PM: Virginia just said, “Have a nice weekend!” as she left and Glenn responded to her. I snapped my head back and said, “She was only talking to me.” Meanwhile, Sandy just forwarded me an email that Bossy Glenn sent out regarding a rush. Yeah, Glenn. Everyone’s jumping.

He could at least say thank you.

8:04PM: Oh my god, the funniest thing ever just happened Glenn just fell!!!! He tripped over the cleaning person’s vaccuum thing and then broke it and asked if he could fix it because he is obsessed with appliances! And the cleaning person accused him of harassment! Probably because of the way he said he’s good with hoses. And I was like, “It’s OK lady, he’s just naturally creepy.” Just kidding. NOTHING FUNNY IS HAPPENING BECAUSE IT IS BORING LATE SHIFT WITH BORING GLENN.

8:32PM: I MADE IT! But I had to ride down in the elevator with Glenn for an extra one-minute kick in the pants. Then he was like “Is Henry here yet?” as if he cares that I may be stumbling around downtown in the dark. I said “Yeah, he just sits out there…” And Glenn said, “Just like how he spends most of his life: waiting for YOU.” YEAH AND HE LIKES IT!

I’m on my way home now. Told Henry that people were real excited for the Glenn-centric live blog event and he mumbled, “I seriously doubt that.”

Me too.

Amber¹ brought over a Jamberry catalog for me and Pregnant Amber (she said I can call her that!!) to look at. Glenn always has to insert himself in Girl Talk, so he chose a pair of camo nail wraps for his own dumb nails. I asked him if that means he was in THE SERVICE because ew camo. He said that no, he was not.

This inspired me to drag Henry’s name through the mud (as usual) by talking about his SERVICE years.

“Like, all he did was refuel airplanes or something, but his mom acts like he was some Real American Hero, like GI Joe. He didn’t even fight in a war!” I cried.

“It was just preparing him for life with you,” Glenn mumbled. “The real combat.”

“Yeah,” Pregnant Amber joined in. “His war hadn’t yet begun.”

Now that I’m sitting at my desk crying, I’m going to end this by reposting about the time last year when we visited the town where Henry lived while he was IN THE SERVICE. OH YOU GUYS, I’m so giddy today.

****

OMG one of my favorite parts of our road trip was when we got to drive through the boarded-up hole where Henry used to live while he was in the SERVICE OMG CAN YOU STAND IT.

I wondered out loud if perhaps Henry had grown children running around Bunker Hill, but he assured me that was impossible, which means that Henry didn’t have sex for like THREE YEARS from 1984-1987.

I was in elementary school then, roller skating and being awesome.

Henry is sitting next to me right now, against his will, and I’m asking him for information to include with these pictures since he has refused to write anything on his own because he hates thinking of the years of his life that didn’t include me.

Obviously.

He was an aircraft CREW CHIEF. Whatever that means.

Here is a street that Henry may have walked on! He probably at least drove on it in his GREEN GRAND PRIX. (He just corrected me and said it was blue but last night he told me it was green. Now he’s saying he had both. God, brag much?) He doesn’t recall Brown’s Game Room being there when he lived there in the EIGHTIES. I asked him if there were any whore houses there and he got really impatient and said, “Not in BUNKER HILL. Those were in KOKOMO.” Oh. Sorry.

Henry never want to Indiana Beach while he lived there because he didn’t know it existed. He did, however, go to the fair. Once. He can’t remember if he rode anything, but he knows for certain he didn’t kiss any girls there because kissing leads to SEX and he wasn’t having that in Bunker Hill. That would have ruined his reputation as the Base Eunuch.

This is the neighborhood where Henry’s trailer was but he claims the trailer isn’t there anymore, but he wouldn’t drive back to where it used to be so I couldn’t get any pictures of the empty pit that remains. He wouldn’t even get out of the car while I was taking these pictures. (Admittedly, there wasn’t much there to photograph and I didn’t want anyone to come running out of their home, spitting Skoal at me, so I was pretty quick to wrap this up.)

Also, Henry has no pictures of his trailer, because he wasn’t in the habit of taking pictures of his non-descript living quarters. He had a variety of roommates, including Les, Tim (WHO HE IS FRIENDS WITH ON FACEBOOK! I’m going to message him soon), and John. He thinks John only lived there for a little while but he doesn’t remember because it’s hard to remember things that happened in the 80s, you guys. He claims that they never brought home any local women and this is just so weird to me. They had lots of porn on VHS though. He mumbled “no” when I asked him if they all watched it together, which means that he wanted them to all watch it together but they were like, “Ew get out of here, Eunuch.”

HENRY HAS BEEN TO THIS BAR!!! Apparently, he mostly drank at the bar on BASE. What a snob. He told me that he used to drink LONG ISLAND ICED TEAS at the bar on base. You guys, Henry used to drink LONG ISLAND ICED TEAS. Now I know what I’m serving at his 50th birthday party next year, complete with cocktail parasols and fruit on swords. And obviously they will be served in mason jars with paper straws, as an homage to Henry’s Pinterest addiction.

Henry made me get in the car after this for fear of the homeowners mistaking me for someone casing their house.

Henry used to cook his own food when he lived there and he just said, “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal to you, I cook my own food now, too.” Oh yeah. But for some reason, I keep imagining him in velour lounge pants and a wife-beater, stirring succotash on top of a hot plate. He just told me he cooked Thanksgiving dinner once!! For like 4 or 5 people, he doesn’t remember!

(I AM SO GIDDY AS I WRITE THIS! The notion of Henry having a life prior to me is hilarious and mythical to me all at once. I need to know all of it.)

I was excited to talk about this picture but Henry yelled, “THAT IS A WHOLE DIFFERENT THING. THAT IS NOT EVEN BUNKER HILL. THAT IS TEXAS.” He didn’t do cool things like this in Indiana. Probably because he didn’t know how.

This was when Henry first saw the thing and then realized it wasn’t the thing anymore. (You know, that base thing.) It’s a prison now! He said he doesn’t have many feelings about this since it was so long ago. There was a reunion last year that he didn’t attend. He said it was because all of the people who went were people who were there for like a million years and not an early-discharge pussy like himself. I asked him if he had one of those dishonorable discharges and he got really irritated so that means yes. Probably because he was a Eunuch. And back then, that was probably worse than being gay.

He’s laughing right now but it’s not the “I’m having a good time!” kind of laugh, but more of a “Can I please go to bed now because my sanity is starting to come out of my nose” kind of scary laugh.

I went into work on Monday thinking it was going to be another boring day. But then Glenn came back from lunch and said to me, “There’s a crime scene out there. I’m surprised you’re not at it.”

“WHAT?” I gasped, and while I rushed to shove my stupid arms into my jacket, he explained that someone apparently either shot someone or used a machete. I figured he was exaggerating, but I was already running to the door before he could finish.

The scene of the crime was right outside the same trolley stop that I use every goddamn day, so that’s just lovely.

There’s also a bus stop alongside of the trolley station, and it is a pretty grimy bus stop at that. There’s literally no need to walk past it so it’s easily avoidable. However, this time I walked right over to the small crowd that was gathering on the other side of the police tape.

I walked up to a young couple who were bitching about how no one was giving the cops space. Like, “Look at all these dumb people, come to gawk at the real life crime scene.”

“Wow, what’s going on, I wonder?” I asked casually, trying to use my best “Do-do-dooo, oh wow, what is going on guys? No really, I didn’t come out here just to see a dead body*” tone.

*(There was no dead body. The victim had already been transported to the hospital by the time I got there.)

“I don’t know,” the guy said in a way that made it sound like one long word. “We just got here.”

“Someone got shot or cut up,” the girl shrugged. “That’s what they saying.”

“Wow. Scary,” I chirped, and immediately played it back 384,789,234 times in my head, kicking myself for sounding like fucking Annette Funicello talking about smearing some peanut butter on two slices of white.

I crossed the street, hoping to have a better view from over there. I called Henry. “Pretend like you’re on the phone with me,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to look suspicious.” Then Henry was getting annoyed because he kept asking me questions and I would just whisper, “Hold on. I can’t tell you right now” so then he was like “This is dumb” and we ended the call. I was going to just go back into the Law Firm, which is right across the street from the trolley station, but then I remembered that Glenn suggested going INSIDE the trolley station and looking out the window.

So I did that and by golly, he was right. Literally nothing separated me from the two puddles of blood but one pane of glass. There were three guys who had the same idea, so we huddled together, taking pictures and saying things like, “Wow, this is so crazy” even though really it’s not THAT crazy because, you know, American cities are prone to violent crimes, apparently.

But…machete.

The biggest puddle you can see I’ve circled beneath the bench and then there’s more over by the curb. At first I felt like an asshole, photographing this, but everyone else was doing it too. So…Plus, I haven’t ever seen crime scene blood before so this was a pretty big deal for me. Real blood is so bright! Like paint!

Everyone I talked to said the same thing as Glenn: that some guy apparently got off the bus and attacked a man with a machete. The thought of someone randomly riding the bus into town, waiting to slash a bitch with the machete hidden up the sleeve of his parka, was really frightening.

I decided it was time to go back to work.

Slowly, more information started to trickle in on various news sites, the first update stating that THE MAN WITH THE MACHETE WAS ON THE LOOSE like some fucking Jason Takes Pittsburgh bullshit. And I was out there! Glenn snidely said that it was probably one of the guys I was talking to, coming back to admire his work.

FUCK.

But then another update explained that it wasn’t a random act: the victim and the perp knew each other and were apparently fighting over some broad. One of the news accounts said that a woman stepped in and intervened, causing the perp to flee. I wondered if that was the same woman who inspired this independent slasher film and if she was even worth it, because I can’t imagine Henry taking a machete-swipe for me.

By the end of the work day, we learned that this Yinzer Jason Voorhees had walked right down the street the Army Navy store, bought the machete, and walked back to the bus stop where he cut the other man’s hand right down to the bone. I also read another account that stated the man also took a blow to the head. He’s expected to be just fine so now I don’t feel as bad for posting pictures of his blood on Instagram.

And Facebook.

And my blog.

****

The next morning, Nate came over and said, “I didn’t know all this machete stuff was going on yesterday! Why didn’t anyone tell me!?”

“We did!” I argued.

“Yeah, but when you said you were going out to see the crime scene,” he reasoned, “I thought you were just ‘being Erin’.”

[Ed.Note: My favorite part of this whole thing is that I used the A Beautiful Mess app to edit the photo of the crime scene and then tagged it #abeautifulmess on Instagram so all their beautiful pictures of ridiculous DIY projects and perfectly-styled lattes is thwarted by a photo of the blood of a man who was hacked by a machete. Surprisingly, none of the ABM staff members have commented with #needsmoremasonjars or #putabirdonit.]

It’s time to unload all of the deceased, Glennified celebs that I have been hoarding on my phone. You will note that there is no Robin Williams Glenn yet. I want to make a collection of Robin Williams Glenns, like a Brady Bunch-esque grid of them, but I just haven’t had the time yet.

I think I posted this one already, but I recently found out that Glenn used to be a beekeeper and now is not a beekeeper.

When I was a kid, I remember finding out that Bob Hoskins was supposedly (“supposedly”) British and I disputed this furiously. “I saw him in Who Framed Roger Rabbit and he is definitely from America because he talked American!” I MEAN, REALLY.

My god, I was so giddy when I made this one.

This one was suggested by my friend Kristy when we were at the Zombie Luau and it was apparently the nth anniversary of Elvis’s death. I know this because Kristy said to me, “Hey, it is the nth anniversary or Elvis’s death.” So, here is his RIP Glenn. You’re welcome, Mr. The King.

It makes me really happy when people who don’t work here/know Glenn suggest an RIP Glenn. I told him that this happens sometimes and he was like, “OK.”

Out of all the Glenns I have made over the years, this one probably is the closest match to his likeness.

This one hurt. Jan Hooks’ had a small role in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, but it was huge enough to make a lasting impression on me (and millions of others!). I am not big on referencing movies, but her scene is such a metaphor for my life, always looking for something that doesn’t exist, finding myself asking for something that gets me laughed at. I have written about countless “Alamo Basement” moments on this blog.

One of my fondest Alamo Basement moments was a literal one. It was the summer of 1992, when we were hosting a French foreign exchange student so suddenly my family was doing textbook family stuff, like “going on outings together.” One of those outings was to Laurel Caverns, about an hour away, where we took French Kid on a tour so he could take home a souvenir of stalagmite with stalactite confusion, like the rest of us dumbass Americans. So we’re on this tour, deep inside a fucking dripping cavern, and my dad raises his hand and asks, in a perfect deadpan, “When do we get to see the basement?” My dad and I barely got along back then, but goddamn did I laugh.

Jan Hooks will always represent something happy from my childhood. And now, she is a Glenn.

I’m pissed about this one. The gown looks like stupid Alaska water and a stupid Alaska mountain. Ugh, Alaska, you constantly mock me!!

I KNEW I should have made the dress red.

After I made the Wayne Static Glenn, Glenn shrugged. “I don’t know who that is.”

Mean Amber turned around and said, “Yeah, either do I.”

So then I felt confused. Was I astral projecting again? Was Wayne Static someone who only exists in the astral projection town I visit on my fantastic subconscious trips and now my two worlds are colliding and everyone on this side is going to think I’m nuts, bringing back memories of characters who don’t exist here on this side?

But then Nate walked by and said, “Yes I am familiar with Static X” so I was relieved until it occurred to me that Nate and I are astral projecting together somehow, to a town on the other side that never advanced past pre-millennium hard rock.
+++++++++
FUNNY STORY: Glenn’s wife came to visit with their new baby a few weeks ago and Glenn took her to the other side of his desk, where two poster boards of Glenns hang on a wall.

“So, I never told you about this before,” he started slowly. “Because it’s kind of hard to explain, but…here is this thing.” And then he Vanna White’d an arm along the poster boards and maybe it was just the angle but I could swear I caught a glimmer of PRIDE on Glenn’s face.

There was a tense moment of silence while his wife took it all in. I was prepared to throw Amber under the bus.

“IT WAS ALL AMBER’S IDEA! AMBER STARTED IT! AMBER IS A SICK PERSON WHO NEEDS HELP!”

But then Glenn’s wife started cracking up and pointing out her favorites. YES!

Later that day, Amber and I were reminiscing about all the Glenns we’ve defaced over the years.

“You know, when you first started this, I thought, ‘Yeah, this is going to get old.’ But no. No, it’s still funny!”

And then we laughed for awhile until Amber realized she had gone more than 5 minutes without being mean.

The end.

Things got interesting today when my brother Corey sent me this text:

Immediately, I turned around and recited the text to Glenn, because he clearly cares about everything that goes on in my life.

“OK,” he said,

“AMISH PEOPLE, GLENN!”

He just shrugged and went back to “work.”

But then Corey started texting me pictures and I was practically falling out of my seat. Mean Amber shared my joy in this, surprisingly! I guess we have Amish people in common.

I think at some point Glenn tried to offer some boring Amish People anecdote, but I fell asleep. They built a chair for someone he knew, I’m sorry, but my eyelids are crashing down and my ears are set to LALALALA.

Then Corey said that they were blasting Christian rock and country music, but our dad said that there was a third guy with them who was not Amish, so this Secular music blarin’ was OK.

THIS PICTURE IS EVERYTHING!!!

By the time Corey sent me the second photo above, I had officially lost it.

“WHO IS TAKING THESE PICTURES?!” Glenn the Amish Photograph Police Officer demanded to know.

“My brother,” I said in a ‘duh” tone. “He’s basically exactly like me, but 24.”

The look of horror that spread across Glenn’s face was priceless.

“OMG HERE’S A PICTURE OF THEM ON MY DAD’S ROOF! THEY’RE ON.MY.DAD’S. ROOF GLENN!” I cried excitedly.

“Well, if they’re building a roof, then of course they’re eventually going to be on the roof!” Glenn yelled in Glenn-fashion, which is mostly just a slightly louder mumble.

Fuck, I miss everything while I’m at work.

(Of course, now I’m embroiled in an internal Amish or Mennonite quandary.)

UPDATE!

It is now Friday, October 17th and Corey has sent me photos of my future Amish husband. I CAN’T WAIT TO CUT A HOLE IN A SHEET!

OMG THIS ONE.

Things are heating up over at my desk/funeral parlor this week! (OK. Not really. I still have to lure people over by convincing them that I have Really Great Prizes under my desk.) The first week+ was more of just an exhibit of funeral shit. I was just getting my feet wet. My co-worker Colleen one day was like, “I mean, is this it?” and then apologized when my face fell and said, “No, it’s just that we all expect more!” And I understood. I gotcha.

So I came up with a way to make it interactive. Because who doesn’t like getting free shit? Even if it’s just dumb shit like candy and Glenn activity books. Basically, gross Glenn is robbing graves again and hiding severed fingers around the department. There are clues on the back of department-specific prayer cards (RIP Natalie’s Pizza Rolls that were stolen from the freezer) and anyone who finds a finger and returns it to Erin’s Funeral Parlor gets the aforementioned prizes! OMG!

Printer 39 had to have major surgery yesterday. :( It was real touch-and-go but he’s back and only jammed for me once today….although, I think I only printed to it once.

I know. It’s kind of dumb. But I just like making people happy!

Glenn actually laughed real laughter when he read about his latest dastardly deeds, and he has been excitedly telling people, “You have to get a prayer card to get a clue! Did you read the newspaper article? IT TIES EVERYTHING TOGETHER!”

OK, he only actually told one person this. But still! He seemed excited!

One of the prizes is The Great Glenn Activity Book. I was sitting here at work last Thursday when it hit me: GLENN COLORING BOOK. But then I was like, “No we need activities, too!” And then Mean Amber (new nickname in the works) said that a Where’s Glenn would make her really happy. ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE:

“It’s nice to know that my favorite band is Village People,” Glenn mumbled last week when he found the extra crossword puzzle I accidentally left on the printer.

The next phase was to bake funeral biscuits. Obviously here you will read between the lines and know that this means Henry baked the funeral biscuits. It was a Victorian tradition to give these gingersnap-esque cookies away at funerals. So basically what I’m saying here is that my Halloween theme is educational, OK?

They’re made with molasses and I’ve had to listen to Henry bitch for two days about how disgusting molasses is after he presumably chugged it straight from the bottle.

(Yes, I used food coloring markers, thank you for your concern!)

Some prizes!

Henry and I watched reruns of Dexter while packaging the cookies last night. Each one is individually-wrapped in a paper pouch, sealed with wax and wrapped with a black ribbon. Funeral biscuits don’t just get plopped naked on a tray! Respect.

My work-friends seemed pretty skeptical at first, but once they found out that Henry baked them, they were like, “Fine. We will eat one of your dumb cookies.” Everyone is still alive, you guys!

Of course The Shiny One got a skull and then made me take a picture of her before she went around gloating to people. Sandy got a skull-less cookie and immediately blamed Henry.

THAT WAX SEAL, THO.

Henry has been a pretty good sport about all of this. Even when we had to go out of our way on Sunday to get the dumb wax seal stamp. (My choices were a fleur de lis or wedding bells.) He’s been on the ball with the Great Glenn Activity Book one-man printing press.

**************

 “How much time did you spend on all of this?” Jeannie asked me in her typical “you need help” tone.

“I mean…let’s just say I haven’t been cleaning or washing the dishes lately,” I answered. I always joke that I have too much time on my hands, but the reality is that I don’t have enough. Not nearly! And I get so caught up in ridiculous ideas and projects that other things suffer.

“She hasn’t fed her kid in a week,” Glenn joked when someone was commenting on all of the details I’ve put in around my desk.

He’s not entirely wrong…

My theme this year is Funeral Parlor. I have several post-mortem photos that I keep on my desk year-round and I figured I would just build my Halloween theme around those this year. I’m still in the beginning stages, but so far, it’s really all up in Glenn’s face so that’s good!

Candy urn. I burnt paper to make ashes and luckily I didn’t burn the house down since I was home alone while playing with fire. You should have seen the disapproving look Marcy was giving me!

It’s been surprisingly difficult to get co-workers to take some candy maggots out of the urn.

Some light reading.

Today while Glenn was at lunch, I added some cobwebs to his desk too. “Wow. I was gone longer than I thought,” he dead-panned, and then I got all offended when he took it down.

“I had to! You taped it over my keyboard and mouse!” he said defensively. God, chill out, Glenn.

Ugh, that paper in the background is  going to be the death of me. It’s just scrapbook paper but I’m three pieces short of covering the whole cubicle wall and I’ve already been to three Pat Catan’s (craft store) in search of more. It’s perfect though because it has a velvet-texture. That bottle is one of several empty embalming fluid bottles.

“Oh….you’re decorating again,” my boss said last Friday, after doing a double-take. I couldn’t tell if she was excited or scared, or a mixture of both.

The next several stages are going to be really fun! I’m building up to the point where it will be interactive like the carnival desk of 2012. Glenn is just totally on the edge of his seat!

Today, I came up with an incredible idea that made me lose it at my desk. I confided in Mean Amber who said, “Wow. You’re a genius.”

“I know,” I said, but that came out all wrong.

What I meant to say was, “duh.”

THE SET-UP

A few weeks ago, back when CHRIS STILL WORKED HERE, the firm announced its upcoming Global Day of Service. CHRIS decided that Lauren and I should join her in signing up for some organization that has to do with trees.

“It’ll be great!” she said. “We can hug trees!” she said. And Lauren and I blindly followed*. And then you know what happened? CHRIS LEFT BEFORE GLOBAL DAY OF SERVICE EVEN HAPPENED!

*(To be fair, the fact that there were free Leona’s Ice Cream Sandwiches available at the sign-up event may have been what actually swayed us.)

Last week, Lauren and the rest of the people in our group received an email saying that we would be mulching in the business district of Bloomfield (a Pittsburgh neighborhood right outside of downtown). That seemed OK to me. I imagined us sprinkling mulch upon tiny saplings, blowing a kiss at it, and then moving on to the next one.

On my way to work yesterday, I was on the phone with Henry and he asked what it was exactly that I was going to be doing that day.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, even though he wasn’t there to see it. “MULCHING, whatever MULCHING is.”

“Oh my god,” Henry laughed. “Please tell me where you’re going to be so I can come watch.”

I didn’t understand at the time what this meant.

Later that morning, I found out that another co-worker volunteered on Monday for the same organization and was so sore, she had to work from home. I laughed about it, because please. I couldn’t imagine any charitable organization expecting law firm slugs to do any heavy-lifting. I mean, when Lauren and I volunteered at the Food Bank last year, we basically just looked at cans of food for three hours and talked about how great Nutella is.

(Seriously, how great is Nutella?)

Clearly this co-worker was exaggerating. I mean, obviously. And she apparently was pulling vines out of a hillside and not mulching, like we would be doing. You know, drizzling down pocketfuls of mulch onto trees like sprinkles on an ice cream cone. Because that’s what I was going to be doing all day, twirling all around beneath the beaming sun, singing Emarosa songs in my head.

But then I started to panic.

“Why am I starting to think this is actually some sort of chain gang?” I cried to Mean Amber, who wants me to write an entire blog post explaining how she’s not actually mean at all, and do you see how bossy she is?!

Lauren was likewise freaking out and we collectively rued the day that we signed our souls away for a fucking ice cream sandwich.

(Albeit, a damn fine ice cream sandwich. Mine was blueberry ice cream inside a snickerdoodle! It was delightful, snickerish, and doodley.)

AND THEN I found out at 11:45 that we were leaving at 12:05 and not 1:00 like I thought (because instead of reading emails, I like to play a game called Guess & Assume), so I didn’t have time to eat lunch! I figured I would be OK, though. I’d just eat when we got back at 4, that’s all. I forget to eat a lot of days so it wouldn’t be anything new.

THE BUS RIDE

Lauren and I were the first ones on the shuttle bus and I was starting to feel giddy, like we were going on a field trip and oh, what sorts of adventures were we about to have? It doesn’t take much to excite me.

The bus loaded up fairly quickly. It was mostly all people from other departments. There were only 4 of us reppin’ the 10th floor, and one of the 4 was missing: Patrick. Finally, I spotted him strolling casually toward the bus, eating a peach like a goddamn farmer.

I lost it, just totally interrupted Lauren with my chuckle-vomit. Patrick was the last one to get on the bus, and he ever so calmly strode to an empty seat adjacent from me, and went right back to eating his peach.

“What?” he asked, catching me laughing.

“Nothing,” I wheezed. “Just the way you’re eating that peach!”

“What’s wrong with how I’m eating my peach?” he asked seriously.

“I mean, nothing. It’s just funny because you’re so casual about it,” I tried to explain, wiping away crumbs of cachinnation from my mouth.

“How should I eat my peach?” he pressed, and I was like OMG JUST FORGET IT.

Patrick and the Peach.

Meanwhile, the shuttle driver was forcing people to get out their phones and put his number in it, because he wasn’t going to be sitting around waiting for our philanthropic asses, OK? Lauren and I just sat there and made no effort to take down his number, but Patrick was ALL OVER IT.

The driver, whose name was either Dale or Gale or Nail, told us that the group of volunteers he picked up for the morning session was too large and they had to get a bigger truck.

So then I started picturing a dump truck hauling all of the law firm volunteers to the site on a bed of mulch. Meanwhile, Patrick was trying to get us to buy his house. He actually lives in the same neighborhood as me, so we spoke briefly of Purple Pants because he knows her too.

Then Dale/Nail/Gale pulled over because he thought he got a flat tire and someone in the front said, “That was just that lady you ran over,” and I started cracking up because riding on buses reminds me of going on vacation tours and I get super slaphappy.

THE LOTION

Our valiant driver booted us out onto some corner of Bloomfield. At our feet was a mountain of bagged mulch, wheelbarrows, enticing tools, and four people in fluorescent yellow t-shirts.

“There’s a guy in a ponytail,” Lauren said offhandedly. “He’s probably going to be cool.”

And also, a woman.

“Oh my god, who’s THAT GUY?” I sighed dreamily as my eyes fell upon the most beautiful blue collar of them all. “I claim him!” His name tag said Jake.

The leader of Trees gave us a brief rundown of the organization while we all passed around sunblock. I showcased my competency right off the bat by inadvertently squirting too much into my hands. I proceeded to smear all of this into my skin, looking like I was getting ready to go to a costume party as Powder.

“Oh my god,” Lauren laughed, spooning some lotion off my arm with her fingers. Some stranger from another department followed suit and I felt so violated. Then, in a moment of HOW AM I GOING TO RID MYSELF OF THIS LOTION, I slapped some onto Patrick’s arm. Lucas, rounding out our 10th floor quadrant representation, gave me the universal “I’m good!” motion as I turned my splooge-hands toward him.

I had nowhere else to rub my hands so I just shoved them into my orange work gloves, sunblock-splooge and all.

WHEN IT WASN’T SO BAD

Jake took the reins from whatever the non-hot guy’s name was and gave us a short demonstration of what we were going to do which, newsflash, seemed more like aggressive weeding and less like “mulching.” Jake said since there were 20 of us, he was going to put us into groups of 5. I yelped audibly enough for Jake to hear and pressed myself closer into my 10th floor group. Jake laughed. “OK, some of you have friends here, so you can make your own groups if you want.”

We needed one extra person so a girl named Amy was brave and came over to join us.

“And I guess I’ll just stick with your group,” Jake said, to which Lauren and I exchanged looks of “FUCK YES.” Also, we got to wear neon yellow vests, and I was obnoxiously happy about that. I LOVE NEON.

MULCHING

Aside from feeling self-conscious because passers-by were ogling us, mulching started out OK. In fact, I couldn’t believe how easy it was! We worked our way down one side of the street, picking out trash from tree beds, pulling out the small assortment of weeds poking through the old mulch, and then putting down a new layer of mulch. Sometimes we didn’t have to put down new mulch at all! I was having a lot of fun using my mulching weapon too, which I had silently named Walden. (After Bradley Scott Walden, duh. Google that shit.) I quickly discovered that hacking away murderously at unsightly weeds was almost as satisfying as hacking away at the faces of fake Mexicans from Ohio*. Therapeutic. Cathartic. EXHILARATING. If I wasn’t wearing my murder gloves, I would have texted Henry and told him that I was quitting my job to become a landscaper.

*(Petty jabs at ex-BFF never get old for me; carry on.)

While working on one tree bed in particular, we observed that the number of cigarette butts had increased exponentially and then someone pointed out that we were in front of a bar. A nice, light hearted moment before things went downhill.

Then this guy ^^^ stood around and observed, like what we were doing was any of his business! GOD.

This was before Lauren savagely whacked Amy in the head with the wooden handle of a rake.

After we had worked our way through our designated area, Jake exclaimed, “Wow! You guys are working so fast. Let’s move across the street and help that group over there.” So we were feeling really heroic at that point. I was, anyway. Like a landscaping bad ass. Where’s my fucking cape?

During this time, I made the rookie mistake of wrongly identifying a rose hip bush as a plant full of under-developed persimmons, but don’t worry: Patrick made sure I knew I was an idiot for thinking that. Then Lauren pricked herself on one of the rose hip thorns like this is some goddamn fairy tale and then we had to hear about it for the rest of all time!

This was after some random lady stopped and asked what we had done to get ourselves put on a chain gang, ugh. WE’RE NOT A CHAIN GANG! WE’RE VOLUNTEERS!

It didn’t take long to finish primping the trees on the next block, so Jake decided that we were going to walk back to home base, load up our wheelbarrows with some mulch, and then continue on down the street to meet up with another group. This sounded great, like maybe we were nearing the end of our service. Then I made the mistake of looking at my phone and seeing that it was only 2:00pm. We still had two more hours?! How could that be possible.

Somehow, I got strapped with one of the wheelbarrows and it was just a disaster, so Lauren traded her armful of rakes with me and I was glad that she hadn’t fallen into an eternal sleep after getting pricked by the rose thorn because then who would have helped me? Patrick would have just dragged me along into some brutal military cadence while barking about how I’m a pansy ass bitch motherfucker and I better get my pissy shit together and MARCH.

Once we made it back to the Mt. Everest of mulch bags, Jake realized that the other group was too far away for us to transport the mulch via wheelbarrows, so he demanded that we pick up the bags and load them onto the back of his truck and then he would just drive everything down. Physically, I was fine up until this point. I mean, it was hot out so I was sweating a little bit, but it wasn’t like, “OMG I’M GOING TO DIE.” Until I started lifting bags of mulch. Now, I have moderate back problems and I have known this ever since I had to quit playing tennis because of it when I was 16. So I should have been like, “Hey guy, I’m going to excuse myself from this portion of the day’s activities.”

But no. I’m stubborn and lifted like 8 of them in succession because why? For what? Was there a prize? A medal? NO. JUST 48 HOURS OF CRIPPLING BACK PAIN. The day went from leisurely weeding to recreating the goddamn work site scene in The Ten Commandments.

The pain was so immediate that once I lifted the first bag, I knew there was no way I was getting it up into the bed of that damn truck, so I had to pass them off to Lucas.

Thank you, Lucas.

THE LUCAS INTERLUDE

In the 4.5 years that I’ve been at The Law Firm, I have had very minimal interaction with Lucas, so I was excited to be tree tenders together. I learned a lot about him, too. Such as: he has a tree in his front yard.

And…he has a tree in his front yard.

MULCHING GETS REAL

One of the other Trees people gave us very sketchy directions which had us crossing over a major intersection and getting trapped on a cement island for an indefinite amount of time. Thankfully, Patrick was there to lead us to safety.

“Don’t cross yet. Wait for the walk sign.”

Once we made it to the other side of the street, it was pretty clear that we were no longer in the quaint business district of Bloomfield anymore, but more so The Shady Garage borough. We somehow accumulated a lady from one of the other groups, and also three rough men in street clothes who were apparently being paid to do what we were naively doing for free and made some comment to Patrick and Lucas about how lucky they were to get to have women on their team and I was like “We’re going to get abducted and sold as sex mules. In our fucking neon vests. That’s the only way this day could get any worse.”

It was a concrete jungle down on this end: the tree beds were triple the size of the ones we had grown accustomed to and the weeds grew tall and dense and had super thick stems and deep roots. I hadn’t recovered from lifting mulch bags, so when I knelt down, I started slapping the ground with my mulching weapon in a petulant manner. My energy was gone, my back crunched every time I moved, and I HADN’T EATEN LUNCH AND WAS FEELING FAINT.

But I kept going on because I didn’t want to be That Person.

I know, since when, right?

Jake pulled up in his stupid truck and spouted off some obligatory praises, like, “Yeah. You guys are doing great. Woo. Dig those weeds. Spread that mulch. Go team, go.” You guys. I watched Patrick drop his mulching weapon and begin to shut down at one point.

Patrick has been IN AFGHANISTAN, you guys. Patrick has been IN THE WAR.

PATRICK HAS SHRAPNEL ON HIS DESK AND EVEN HE WAS LIKE FUCK THIS SHIT.

“Remember when we had to pick up all those cigarette butts?” I quietly asked Lauren. “Those were the days.”

I don’t even want to think about how many dogs and drunks have pissed on the trees we were tending to.

After about an hour of hacking down the set of Little Shop of Horrors, Jake came back and said we could cross the street and join the other three groups on that side, which is when we discovered that not only were their tree beds way more suburban, they weren’t even weeding the whole thing! Just narrow strips along the tree trunk! It was APPALLING and we were vocal about our irritation, too.

Oh, and those bastards also had the cooler full of water with them the whole time, too. So, three hours into it, I finally got to have a fucking drink. THANKS FOR THE HOSPITALITY, TREES.

“Hey Lauren, remember last year when we volunteered at the Food Bank and they were practically begging us to eat their snacks and drink their coffee?”

I think Lauren’s response to this was a handful of tears.

Fake smiles.

Lucas is thinking about cutting down that tree in his front yard.

Finally, it was almost 4:00 and I have never been so happy to see Dale/Nail/Gale, and the Law Firm, and my non-laborious desk work.

I wish I could go back in time and punch myself in the throat at the exact moment I felt excited when Jake picked my group.

********

Later that night, when I complained for the 548678th time about how exhausted I was, Chooch rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah we know. Because you had to ‘do mulch’ all day. We get it.”

One of the best parts about my new position is that I get to be around people again, and suddenly my co-workers remember that I exist because they can actually see me now! And we have real-life interaction! It’s wonderful. I used to sit in an office in a infrequently-visited hallway, and that really killed my social life, you guys. My work days were long and sad.

THE GREAT, STINKY SHAWL MYSTERY

Like most offices, it is fucking colder than Sarah Palin’s heart up in that piece. I have, and this is no exaggeration, two sweater-y cardigan things, two shawls*, and a blanket in my work space. On Thursday, I retrieved my black shawl (my favorite one because it has pompoms on it and I like to swing them around) from my closet-thing and as I pulled it down over my head, I happened to catch a whiff of a perfume that is not anything remotely close to what I wear. I took in another hearty drag through my nose and jumped out of my seat.

“Glenn. There’s a problem. My shawl reeks of perfume….but it’s NOT MINE.”

Glenn looked genuinely concerned.

“Someone has been wearing my shawl!” I cried. “I bet it’s GAYLE. She misses me so much now that I’m not on late shift, that I bet she comes over here after 5:30 and wears my shawl just to have a piece of me to keep close to her!”

And then Glenn LAUGHED. Real laughter! And in case I was confused by the sound I was hearing, he verified his laughter by monotoning, “That’s funny.”

So then I went outside on my break and called Henry to tell him about my legit concern and he said I was being outrageous, as though being outrageous, truly truly truly outrageous, is a bad thing.

*(I was already made fun of on Facebook for wearing a shawl, but I bought both of these in the juniors department at Kohl’s and they’re super adorable and probably not even actually shawls but I don’t know what else to call them.)

THINGS GLENN HAS SAID THIS WEEK

This week has been pretty hilarious. I guess because Glenn’s due to become a dad for the third time today, he was feeling pretty punchy and his zingers were on point. My favorite was when I said I was going upstairs to get my volunteering t-shirt off some broad, but then she wasn’t there so I stood around and “loafed” (my dad’s favorite word) with Patty for awhile in the copy center. I came back down to my desk after about 15 minutes and when Glenn noticed I was empty-handed, I explained that it took me so long to come back because, “People upstairs in the copy center were talking to me, OK Glenn? I’m a hot commodity up there.”

“What, like a freak show attraction?”

OH GOOD ONE GLENN.

(No really. Good one.)

Then I tried to get him to be stoked for the new Emarosa album by engaging in a Release Date Countdown with me. He refused. Later in the day, I just spun around in my seat and cried “OMG GLENN I JUST GOT SHIPPING NOTIFICATION FOR MY EMAROSA PRE-ORDER!” And Glenn dryly said, “Wow. What a day.”

Later, Gayle came over to show Mean Amber and me the clothes* she bought for her granddaughter and I was like, “GLENN, LOOK AT HOW ADORABLE” because I felt this conversation was relevant to him since his world is about to be full of tiny clothes. So then Gayle and Mean Amber were going on about how they hope he has a girl and he was like, “That’s fine, as long as it doesn’t turn out like Erin Kelly.” DANG GLENN.

I hope he remembers to buy Emarosa’s new album next Tuesday!

*(One of the outfits had an owl on it so I poured out some more of my 40 under my desk for Chris.)

THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED BECAUSE CHRIS LEFT THE LAW FIRM:

1. Joan Rivers died.
2. The lights went out yesterday. (Briefly, but still!)
3. Wendy’s leg almost fell off but then Patrick told her it was just a bruise so then it wasn’t going to fall off anymore.
4. My collection of tears has grown and my email inbox has dwindled.
5. The toilets were flushing with reddish-brown water. (According to Barb’s email to the maintenance, anyway.)
6. Boss discovered that I’m a fake artist because of the owl painting I made for CHRIS and had me make her a chalkboard sign because she evidently sells meat-stuffs at the farmers market.

(Making that sign was actually pretty fun but I still whined about it because if I didn’t, people would think there was a problem. “I don’t work with chalk!” I even scoffed at one point and then had to google “pictures of roast” because I haven’t eaten that shit since 1996 so what the hell do I know.)

WE GOT NOSTALGIC

Sandy brought up Waterbreak ’11 the other day on Facebook and then we all had a moment of “Aw, those were the days.”

When Chris told me she was resigning a few weeks ago, I silently vowed to write her off FOREVER. I might have some slight abandonment issues. Among others.

But then Lauren was like “WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR HER!

” And I was like “FINE!!!” So I painted her an owl even though she BETRAYED me.

Chris loves owls. I should have painted her something she HATES so she could experience the same sour pangs in her gut as me.

ULTRA SIGH.

Today was her last day so Lauren, Nate and I went with her to Sal’s for her last dumb lunch downtown. My grilled cheese tasted AWFUL.

Like BETRAYAL and ORPHANAGE MOTHBALLS.

And POUND PUPPIES.

UGH.

Afterward, our merry band of processors plus some others presented her with the painting, which everyone had signed, and then we had CHAMPAGNE, so suddenly Chris’s Last Day wasn’t so bad after all. But every time I drink champagne at work, I get all weird and wound up, and this time I ended up spilling all of my secret Help Desk crushes and stalking tactics to Glenn and Mean Amber, who were just like, “What the hell?”

Oh sure, I appear to be smiling in that photo, but on the inside, I was the embodiment of Sally Struthers’ whimpering voice. IT FELT LIKE CHRIS’S FUNERAL, OK.

Also, I taped a “Cry Me a River” Glenn to the back of the painting, because come on.

I couldn’t send her off without one last Glenn.

Later, A-ron came over and did a stupid dance to cheer me up. It kind of worked. Just a little.

GOODBYE CHRIS. I’m glad you left for something better, but I hope you don’t find a parallel universe Erin over there who also likes weird fruit, Warped Tour, and I can’t think of anything else I like right now because I’m too sad.