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Why I’ll Never Be a Professional LOLer: Throwback Thursday
I recently just found my old supervisor Kim on Facebook, which brought back all kinds of memories (all of them are good—Kim was one of my favorite people at that job). This is one of my favorites, which I am reposting because this walking challenge is really consuming my life and I have not yet mastered the fine art of blogging while walking (shocking I know). Copy and paste all the way!
Anyway this is from 2008. All you need to know is that Tina and Eleanore were super fucking annoying.
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Tina and Eleanore have a perpetual email chain going during the late shift. They will laugh out loud, completely over-the-top Jello-bellied guffaws, as they read each other’s latest (lame, I’m betting) quip. So last night, Kim intercepted me as I left the restroom and, in hushed tones, proposed that we give them a taste of their own medicine.
“Make them think we’re talking about them,” she said, deviously.
“But we really do that,” I reminded.
She ignored me and continued whispering. “When you go back to your desk, laugh, and then I’ll laugh.”
Not one to decline a foray into junior high shenanigans, I accepted the mission. “Just let me steal some tea bags first, and then I’ll do it,” I promised.
In my travels to the other side of the building to forage for tea, I began to overthink my assignment.
I wanted my tittering to sound as realistic as possible but pressure was preventing me from remembering how I regularly laughed. I at least knew it wasn’t a sleazy snortle a la Tina.
I felt like I should have given myself a practice test, laughed out loud a few times while walking back from my tea journey. But it’s already bad enough that I have a rap for stalking the cleaning crew with my camera phone; I didn’t want to add schizo chuckler to my reputation.
By the time I returned to my area, my palms were coated with a clammy glaze. Nervous and guilty, I stomped past a book-reading Eleanore and, in the skittish falsetto of someone who just partied with an eight ball, I shouted, “IS THAT BOOK GOOD?” A normal, non-suspicious person might have first asked her what the fuck book she was even reading, but I was too busy being squashed under an anvil of pressure. Eleanore seemed startled at my near-accusatory inquiry, and replied with a confused, “Uh, yeah, babe. I’m only on page 100 though.” I shouted “THAT’S GOOD” and sat down clumsily at my desk.
And then I did it.
Try to remember back to 1988 when you snuffed that fisherman down on the docks, behind the tower of cargo, and you heard him suck in his last pitiful breath: all raspy and wet-sounding from choking on the blood corked in his throat, and you’ll have a good idea of what my forced laugh sounded like.
Strangulated and weak. Pathetic. Painful. A soul drifting off into the ether.
Kim didn’t even hear it from her cube. If Eleanore heard, and I don’t think she did, she probably just thought I had indigestion.
I emailed Kim and apologized for single-handedly fucking her plan in the ass.
“Idiot.” That was her reply. Succinct, honest, deserved.
No commentsA Picture Post (with no point)
And now I present to you a visual tour of my last three days. It is not very spectacular.
My friend Kate suggested that I start a blog of nothing but Henry frowning. I think that is a fantastic idea. But for now, here is the “Erin Just Turned Up Dance Gavin Dance” frown. Coincidentally, right after this happened, I tweeted, “Seriously. How great would I be as an ice cream truck driver” to which Andrea replied, “Blasting Dance Gavin Dance, I would imagine.” Yes! Jonny Pops for everyone!
Totally still fawning over this. My friend Terri was all, “I got two copies sent to my house, aren’t you jealous?” Well, yeah! I still need to get an auxiliary issue to frame.
Speaking of Jonny, I took this photo the very first time I ever got to see him, back in 2008 when Emarosa opened for Pierce the Veil. I cried a lot that night.
Contrary to popular belief, the Cure is actually still my favorite band. Never forget that.
(I can never tell if I post too many pictures of myself. I never know what you guys want, OK!?)
One big eyeball.
Minus that glaring “your,” this is my new favorite text. One day I will regale you all with the story of why Henry is “A Woodhick” in my phone.
Perhaps now Carey will think better of disagreeing with me. Probably not.
In other news, today was the start of the Law Firm walking challenge and I already have words to say about it, but maybe that will be for tomorrow. Right now, I just want to walk five feet, check my pedometer, walk 14 feet, check my pedometer, walk 3 feet, grab a peppermint patty….
2 commentsChapter Who Cares of the Henry & the Kittens saga
Henry stopped the car in the middle of the road to show me a kitten sitting in the grass. “There it is!! There’s that kitten I was telling you about! LOOK AT THE COLORING!!” he exclaimed, blowing my hair back with his sheer exuberance.
Apparently, he saw this kitten Friday when he was on his way to pick me up from work, and then on the way back he circled the block looking for it again, when all I wanted to do was go home and eat dinner, having only eaten oatmeal and an apple that day. The kitten had clearly found better things to do than to sit in the exact same spot for 45 minutes, waiting for the crazy kitten prowler to return.
You can imagine Henry was foaming at the ‘stache to see this kitten again. And then when a car had the NERVE to come up behind us, he got all up in arms and shouted, “There are NEVER any cars on this road!” before calling the driver an asshole AND a douchebag and driving away.
“You should have seen that kitten’s eyes,” he murmured a few seconds later. “They’re like, clear—OH OF COURSE THAT FUCKER ISN’T EVEN BEHIND US ANYMORE!!” he yelled, tilting the rear view mirror.
I have no idea who he is anymore.
Food play
I had to make a list of all the different things I do at my job, and I can’t believe I left off “Food styling.”
7 o’clock apple, served with cinnamon and severed hand./em>
Latest Carrot Offering: Beta-carotene phalange.
Thank god my co-workers give me food.
Chooch: My Future Greeting Card Business Partner
Me: Aw shit, you better make daddy a birthday card. I don’t know, draw something on it that he likes.
Chooch, thinks to himself: Something that he likes….Well, obviously that’s a pile of steaming shit. And a kangaroo but I don’t feel like finishing that.
Chooch clearly knows Henry way more than I do, because I would have drawn Faygo bottles on top of a pile of nondescript t-shirts with a bunch of Henry doppelgängers looking on, eating green onions pulled straight from the ground. (Henry eats that shit with the authority of a goddamn farmer and it makes me sick. Tomatoes too.)
A robot standing on a monster, holding a cake?
Henry’s mom came over to babysit today and wanted Chooch to draw something nicer than a pile of shit, but I assured her that Henry would think it was strange if he got anything sweet.
4 commentsDrunk Joe Walsh Fan on the Trolley
As I mentioned on Saturday, we took the trolley downtown for the Arts Festival and were fortuitous to sit behind some drunk (and possibly half-retarded) man en route to the Joe Walsh show. (Henry was like, “Hot damn, how did I not know Joe Walsh was playing in my town tonight? I bet there will be some wheelchaired hussies prime for the pushing, too.”)
Chooch had made friends (in the span of 30 seconds after they swung on a pole together while waiting for the trolley, must be nice) with a three-year-old boy named Jordan so they sat together (much to Jordan’s mom’s chagrin once she realized some disheveled jagoff was going to start slurring to them about science while twirling an unlit cigarette in his shaking fingers.
Here is the video I took, and in true Oh Honestly, Erin-fashion, I accidentally covered the speaker with my big fat sausage fingers. But, you’ll get the point.
Later, Joe Walsh fan accidentally dropped the f-bomb and was all apologetic to us and Chooch (Jordan’s mom had finally come over and snatched up her child after Joe Walks fan started talking about how much he loved him and Chooch; Henry and I remained ambivalent as always), but Chooch just looked at me with this smirk that said, “Um, that guy thinks I don’t say that word I guess.”
When Joe Walsh Fan learned that we were going to the Arts Festival, he told Chooch to pick out something nice for me.
“She has her own money,” Chooch mumbled.
When the trolley brought us to our stop, I started to follow Joe Walsh Fan and his (normal compared to him) friend to the front of the trolley to exit, but Henry hissed, “This way,” and led Chooch and me in the opposite direction to the middle exit.
“But we didn’t even say goodbye!” I wailed to Henry, who answered me with A Smirk.
2 commentsWeekend Link Love!
This weekend has been like a fun-stuffed sausage of awesome. Can’t get my brain to concentrate on any writing right now, so here — have a collection of links that belong to some cool makeup bloggers. (And hopefully a Henry guest post later tonight. The bribery is out in full effect.
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Kat Grisaille’s FOTD/EOTD based on a plastic bottle at La Dandyzette.
Isela’s (not-so-sexy) lingerie and make-up post at The Soctopus Speaks.
Claire wears Black Rose Minerals at Claire’s Beauty.
Mass market cleansing item wins big marks with The Velvet Rose Petal.
No commentsOn the Trolley
Henry, Chooch and I are currently on the trolley en route to the Art Festival. Chooch made two friends: a 3-year-old boy named Jordan, and a half-retarded guy going to the JOE WALSH show.
Oh do I have a fantastic video of this guy talking about science.
Will post when I get home!
No commentsThrowback Thursday: Undead Abduction
Today, I’m reposting these photos because Andrea is coming back to visit next month and I’m excited to do another zombie-esque photo shoot. And probably by then, I can just give her some bath salts so no makeup will be needed.
Chooch could have stood to be more cooperative (children! ugh), but it was overall a really fun day. Wendy even came out to spectate and then wound up a victim. Meanwhile, Henry leaned against the car for most of the time, playing Words With Friends and being annoyed. It was awesome!
6 commentsSpoiler Alert: There Are No Mattresses at the Mattress Factory
Corey and I were duped into thinking that the Mattress Factory had switched exhibitions, so we lassoed up his girlfriend Danielle and my friend Laura and revisited the industrial abode of contemporary art yesterday. Turns out, it was the last day for the current exhibits, so we got to ogle a roomful of handheld bread rolls again. But Corey and I didn’t really care, we were just happy to get out of the sweltering July sneak peek-heat.
EXCEPT THAT THE MATTRESS FACTORY IS NOT AIR-CONDITIONED. FOILED!!
I was pretty upset that the balloon room I saw on the website was not there. I really wanted to release a balloon, and then write my own dreams and wishes on one to replace it.
I’m pretty sure everyone was getting completely annoyed with me whining about it.
Thank god Jonny Craig was there to console me. When he wasn’t getting nipple-nuzzled.
At this moment, Corey was in the middle of saying something and then just stopped. I guess the view of Northside rooftops stunned the words back into his mouth.
It was so face-meltingly hot in that joint that it was almost hard to enjoy everything. And then I accidentally accosted someone in a dark hallway, poking them so hard that my finger bent all the way back. I screamed as a reflex (probably in their face, I couldn’t see) and then we all got a good laugh. Well, me and my group did anyway. I think the person I finger-jabbed was this older man whom I kept mistaking for Philip Seymour Hoffman every time I would see him in my periphery. I do not think he nor his non-smiling wife were amused by any of us at any point during our cultural sojourn, and Corey and I weren’t even really being assholes on this day. It was just too hot!
Got this ring from the gift shop! I had openly coveted it when Corey and I were there over the winter, but I think I had like, $20 in my bank account that I needed to stretch out for the next week. So I did not indulge. This time, however, I could’t resist, though I did text Henry and ask him as a courtesy. His reply was “How much is it?” and then after making me wait forev-hev-er (at least it was air-conditioned in the gift shop), he finally texted back a simple “whatever” that I just knew was oozing defeat and possibly even a little hatred.
Since it was “art,” it wasn’t as cheap as most of my jewelry is (flea market swag!).
The Mattress Factory has an additional building down the street, called the Annex. It was closed when Corey and I were last there, but this time it was open. That is how I learned that there would be balloons after all! Yes, I realize that I essentially paid $12 for the opportunity to choose a balloon. I’m alright with that.
Along the length of outside wall of the Annex, there are red downspouts. Some of them had mirrors placed inside so you could look in and essentially see nothing, but that was still wildly exciting for me. My favorite was the one that had an illustration of an ear at the opening, and if you put your head against it, you could hear music playing from inside the building.
It’s the little things.
This scene of a woman getting out of the shower was projected on a wall. There was also, on the ceiling above a staircase, a projection of a woman walking up stairs, and a bathroom that had a projection of a design on the shower curtain with a recording of some lady singing behind it. IDEAS FOR MY FUTURE HOUSE.
BALLOONS! FINALLY! BALLOONS AND DREAMS EVERYWHERE!!! $12 BALLOONS!
I’m afraid to know what Corey wrote on his.
This is the one he took to release, specifically because someone wrote “I wish I banged her” on it. I took one that said, “I wish for the liberation of the moose.” Because that is a solid wish that deserves to come true.
The handrail had water runnng down it. I touched it, expecting it to be crisp and cold, refreshing; but instead it was WARM BORDERING ON BOILING. I screamed, “OMG IT’S HOT!!” at an alarming decibel.
There was a midget-considerate door which was just enough ajar to let us peek inside at a projection of (presumably) the same woman from the other procted scenes, this time getting her spin on.
All that fuss over the balloons, and I didn’t even release mine myself. I took it home and let my neglected son do it, since I’m such a shitty mother.
1 commentObsequies
The last two weeks have filled me with some of the most unimaginable grief, and having Don’s burial postponed until today did nothing to help me prepare. Every day, I get ready for work and completely lose it, and then I have to give myself the “Pull it together, Erin!” speech. Our house feels so empty and every moment I’m alone in there, my mind just reels and it’s like I’m suspended in this suffocating, quicksanded Hell, getting bitch-slapped in the face by bittersweet memories; plus I’ve been listening to a lot of Morcheeba lately, because that is apparently what I liked in 2002. Like swishing hot tea over a tooth ache, only in my heart. But it’s OK. I know that one day I will be able to look at pictures of Don and smile, just like I can now do with my Pappap, without becoming racked with misery.
I asked Henry to write some words in Don’s memory, because I’m not ready to close the door on my own. Still hurts too much.
I always love when Erin makes write a few words or answer a few questions about something we did or she made me do. Words just do not flow from my head like they do from hers. It takes planning and a lot of extra thought to get this little tribute in to motion, for Erin I would do almost anything though and if writing is what she wants then writing she shall have. When I first came along Don was already part of the family, but even though I was the stranger and not the biggest cat person at all, He was one of the first to warm up to me as he did everyone that entered his house, except for his nemesis ( as pictured in some rare pictures of both of them together) Chooch. He was always the first to come out and sit with you once Chooch went to sleep, he would sit next to as long as you didn’t try and hold him. Don has me made me some what of a cat person as long as they turn out like him. He will be missed!
5 commentsPost-Burial Convo
The waitress at Sylvester and Tweety’s gave Chooch this drawing thing to entertain him (news flash: nothing placates my child).
“Here, let me write something,” I said, swiping it from him.
“Oh, please don’t write Jonny Craig,” Chooch sighed with exasperation right as my hand was perched to draw a heart with Jonny’s name inside.
“Dammit!” I cried out dejectedly, and then, “How did you know?!”
“Oh, come on,” Henry mumbled, insinuating that the whole Internet would have guessed what I was going to write.
I guess I need to work on my predictability.
3 commentsJONNY & ERIN 4EVA
HE’S HERE! HE’S HERE!! MAYA MADE ALL OF MY DREAMS COME TRUE! OMG OMG OMG! I can’t wait to ask Jonny Craig to sign his shirt and then say something predictably douchey to make me cry!
Oh Jonny, the places we will go.
2 commentsDraw Something Wednesday
Chooch was apparently SO PISSED (and confused) that there wasn’t a “Y.”
I was on a Draw Something hiatus for a bit but now I’m completely immersed in it, ignoring people at work, waking up in the middle of the night to play it again.
My friend Shallie drew this for me and I was so tickled that she I corporated Jonny Craig!
That scored her unlimited points with me.
I love Draw Something. Let’s play: ohhonestlyerin
2 comments
