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

OK, onward fat girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

THIS IS WHY I DON’T JAY WALK!!!!

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

Over the weekend, I had just finished a custom Phish painting and prepping a 30×40 canvas for the biggest custom I’ve ever been asked to do (status: in progress, Stacey!), so I just kind of mindlessly began painting Pee Wee on a spare piece of wood that was sitting around, looking all forlorn.

And then it just kind of grew into a Big Adventure collage.

I posted a picture of it on Facebook while it was still in progress, and for the first time ever, someone claimed it before it was even finished. It was a pretty proud moment for me, so thank you Natasha! (And thanks to everyone else who chimed in about wanting it, too!)

Pee Wee’s Big Adventure is in my Top 5 All-Time Favorite Movies and I quote from it so often, it’s kind of ridiculous. It’s right up there with Lost Boys on my list of memorized dialogue, so I think it makes sense that A LOST BOYS PAINTING WILL BE NEXT, WOOOO!

My painting dumping ground ^^. It’s starting to feel like a junk store.

Sunday was a delightfully mild March day and I refused to spend it indoors. Henry got all huffy-puffy at first, like he always does when I decree that it’s the perfect day for a family cemetery outing. Chooch was annoyed about it at first too and even said he hates cemeteries—WTF. Serious tears welled up in my eyes because how could my own son say such a blasphemous thing to me?! I was just about to throw a fit about it, when I decided to compromise by switching cemeteries to the one by the craft store so that Chooch could get more Perler beads. (His obsession with perler bead creations has been going strong since December. It’s such a curious hobby for my trucker-mouthed spawn, but…at least he’s found something that keeps him off the streets? Who knew he had the patience for it. He’s been begging me to start an Etsy shop for him so that he can sell this shit for $50 a piece. Oh OK, son.)

Not considering that 45 degree sunlight + snow = wet ground, I wore TOMS and regretted it as soon as I stepped out of the car and into rushing rivulets of melt. This was right after I mocked Chooch for wearing boots, by the way.

I haven’t abused my Hipstamatic privileges in a while. I know you missed it.

Don’t worry, Henry and I mumbled some things about not stepping out onto the frozen pond.

<3

It’s so easy to slip into hibernation mode during winter, and even though all three of us are usually home together on weekends, that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re spending actual TIME together. Chooch is usually watching stupid YouTube videos, I’m painting, Henry is being a domesticated bitch….you know how it is. So I thought it would be nice to go for a walk where we wouldn’t be distracted by technology. EXCEPT FOR MY PHONE, TAKING ALL OF THEIR PICTURES.

Henry and Chooch have some sort of unspoken snowball rivalry transpiring. As soon as we step out of the front door, it’s Game On. Typically, they leave me alone because they know that I’m a delicate flower and cry easily. (Seriously, snowballs hurt my feelings.) And these two go hard with their snowball pitching. Even just walking from our house to our car across the street on Saturday, they engaged in this outrageous battle that had passers-by stopping to watch (and laugh when Henry pelted Chooch super hard in the side of the face). It’s like child abuse disguised as WHAT GUYS WE’RE JUST PLAYING. I imagine it must relieve a lot of pent up anger for Henry, considering that the first thing Chooch says to him when he sees him everyday is “DADDY WILL YOU IRON MY PERLER BEAD CREATION?!” Every goddamn day with the ironing requests, oh my god. Perler beads are so fucking annoying.

They even had an impromptu battle outside of the Boulevard Restaurant after dinner on Saturday:

So basically, our entire walk was a snowball battlefield, and I nearly peed my pants 87 times. I know it’s corny coming from me, but I have the most fun with these two idiots and I am forever appreciative that we all like each other enough to want to spend time together. I think about my own parents a lot, and how it was pretty rare for all of us to do things together — it was either my mom and us kids going shopping together, or my dad taking my brothers out. And if we were all together, there was usually some tension, someone was mad at someone, someone didn’t want to be there. Who knows.

I’m sure we looked like idiots to the few cars that drove past us in the cemetery, and that just made it even more fun.

It’s got to feel so cathartic for Henry to bombard our ever-blabbering, smart-mouthed kid in the face with icy orbs of retribution.  Seriously. I love Chooch so much, but sometimes I sit here at work and I can still his voice in my head, asking really annoying things, like, “Feed me.” Ugh.

I wonder if I have the same effect on Henry…

Chooch’s crowning achievement was when he pelted a snowball at Henry, which ricocheted off his neck and smacked me in the face just as I was turning around to say something.

Finally, Henry was like I’LL SHOW YOU and dumped Chooch headfirst into a snowbank and I almost peed my pants because it was so funny and then Chooch really DID pee his pants because it was so funny, which caused Henry to go off on a tangent about how it concerns him that our first instinct when something is funny is to pee our pants. Sorry, I guess our bladders are just ultra-sensitive to mirth, Henry, something you know nothing about.

I think Chooch has a bright future as a dunk tank clown.

Plus, we also went roller skating! So, this weekend was pretty fucking grand. I mean, if you’re the type of person to say things like “grand.”

Bathroom plaques are filling up the shop again! I used to make tons of these back in the day and when I used to sell my stuff at Wildcard, they were super popular for some reason. Yinzers like their loos, I guess. 

Now when someone asks, “Which door is the lav?” you can just let them grope their way down the hallway and find it themselves with this helpful, can’t-live-without-it bathroom signifier. They’re available in a variety of styles and the choice is all yours.

Here are some of the glowing reviews that have been dumping in (oh, see what I did there? DUMPING?):

Jen Shitcan from Missouri has been heard saying, “Shiiit, I was so sick of my bitch ass husband bringing his broads home from the bar and asking me where the can was so they can empty their Diva Cup.  Now they just look for the sign and I don’t gotta be bustin’ caps no more.”

Isaac Outhouse from the wilderness sent a telegram saying, “Sign good. Rust proof.”

Peter Pisser from a place with a large blind population sent a box of chocolates with a note saying, “Works good. Except my one blind friend still needs help finding the commode. Make one in braille, you should.”

Melissa Purell informed in green ink, “My son has a penchant for smearing fecal matter everywhere but the hand wipes I keep on the sink specifically for these occasions. Luckily, the unsavory smudges wipe right off my bathroom marker. The stench, not so much.”

And Alyson from Waltham, MA was so thrilled to have her friends stop crapping in her potted plants that she left this flowery feedback: Thanks so much!! I absolutely love it!! My house plants thank you from the bottom of their rooty hearts. It’s the perfect size, too!

Possibly only one of those are real.

These guys are 4×4 and ready to hang. I love doing custom signs too so holla at me. 

Piggybacking off of Chooch’s previous post, the Devil rug is now mine. I’M SORRY CHOOCH, I HAD TO. It was speaking to me like a backward Beatles record. I bought the last one in stock, too.

This is really going to add a lot of….something….to the house. 

#taxrefundFTW

One time on March 6, me and daddy went to Shop n’ Save  and daddy got a Pork loin and it looked like a Big Fat Cow P3n1s. I was sort of grossed out. But then he asked a guy to cut it 1 inch. The guy was like 0.0. And I was like );. So the guy cut it 1 inch. His shirt was clean but when he came out from cutting it. HE MUST OF CUT IT GOOOOOOD D:! Because he was all bloody. But we left after that and when we got home. I told mommy all about it. We laughed!

Today mommy showed me the rug she wants to get. It’s a rug that has a devil on a throne and two naked ladies. I don’t want to have it in our house but mommy does. I said what if grandma comes over. She’ll be like “Oh Joey do you approve of this! I said no B00bies until you’re 50! I’m going to spank your a$$!” That’s what grandma calls him Joey instead of Henry. Apparently because there’s already a Henry in the family so they call him Joey.

That may or may not be “Friday” in Icelandic. You never know if the things you learn in Internet College (i.e. Google) are True Story or not. But I thought that hey, maybe putting a weird-looking word in the title would entice people to click. LINGUISTIC CLICK BAIT. 

Anyway, all that memory lane-tripping over the last week has left me exhausted. Let’s unwind with some good old-fashioned bullet points and iPhone pictures, because that’s real life, you guys.

• The weather was disgusting on Sunday. Look, I’ve done pretty well with not bitching and moaning about winter this year, but when it’s March and still looking like a hobo’s dirty Slurpee outside, I AM GOING TO SAY SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I don’t think the sun came out once all day, and we were treated with some sickening, wet snowfall. Or, as those in the meterological know say: “wintry mix.” So, basically perfect weather to meet Chris and Monica at Sonic to try the new chocolate jalapeno milkshake. If you’ve ever been to Sonic, you know there’s no “inside” to it. You park and your food is brought out to your car. Not very conducive to meeting friends and hanging out on a wintry mix-y day. But, that’s what we did. Henry was like, “You fools can enjoy yourselves standing in the parking lot like rejects; I’m just going to sit in the car and scroll through Facebook even though I only have approx. 40 friends so probably my feed hasn’t changed.”
  • My jalapeno was bigger than Chris’s jalapeno. Monica took a sip of Chris’s shake and cried out, “I got a hot piece!” which actually made Henry laugh audibly from inside the car. Who knew Henry sometimes pays attention to what THE GIRLS are talking about?!

• During our milkshake suck-fest, all of us realized that we hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so we finished our milkshake appetizers and went down the street to Kings, where Henry actually decided to sit at the same table as us, and Chris agreed to let the ghost of Henry’s grandma use her as a host in order to teach Chooch how to knit. So, just your normal lunch convo, really. Then Monica* was like, “Chooch, follow your dad into the bathroom and take a picture of him for all of us to see” so Chooch did it and we all died. Always so much fun hanging out with those two!
  • *True or False?

• In order to distract myself on Mournday, Janna and I went to the Hollywood Theater to see What We Do In the Shadows, which was a really smart move because I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard in a movie theater and I REALLY NEEDED THAT. Janna brought a 4-pack of mini-wine with her so that made it even better. And we managed to not slip on ice and break ourselves because WINTER UGH DIE on the way there and back.
  • I highly recommend seeing this movie, which should mean a lot because I rarely tell you guys to watch things other than music videos. If you like vampires, mockumentaries, The Real World, and the New Zealand film industry, then you will probably like this movie. If I didn’t personally find movie reviews to be so boring, I would tell you more about it but instead I trust that you will just click the link up there. I was still laughing about it the next day at work and I TRIED to tell Glenn about it because I’m a very sharing person, but he was just like, “Oh OK.” Maybe if it was a silent film about boring Glenn-like people doing boring Glenn-like things, like talking about gas fireplaces and looking at clothes dryer manuals, his interest would have been piqued.

• Still can’t believe Parks and Recreation is over. #RIPHarris
• No one has given me their hometown “travel” pieces yet so I’m going to make up my own.
• I always have pretty fucked up dreams (and nightmares—I LOVE HAVING NIGHTMARES) but lately they have almost all involved work people. I think on some subconscious tier, I must be more stressed out than I actually feel about all of the changes happening at work. I mean, some of them are really good changes, but still—it’s a change and changes and me just don’t agree. Even David Bowie’s “Changes” makes me feel stressed out on some level EVEN THOUGH I LOVE THAT SONG.
  • In one of my dreams, Sue (the director of the department) and I killed a man with our bare hands in Wendy’s backyard. Sue said good morning to me the next day and I had immediate flash backs and then proceeded to not make eye contact with her for the rest of the day. SUCH INTIMACY. Later in the dream, I had the guy’s head and it turned out he was still alive and he bit my arm really hard so I ripped his jaw off and if I stop typing and let the room grow quiet, I can still hear all of the popping and cracking of cartilage and bone.
  • In another dream, it turned out that my co-worker Cheryl and her husband were actually not married for all these years, so they decided to get married for real and I went to the wedding, which was in a huge cathedral that also had parts of Cheryl’s house in it. I was sitting at the top of a wide, red-carpeted staircase with another co-worker who works remotely from West Virginia and who I have little to no contact with; her knee hurt her so she asked me to slide down the steps with her, so I did, and I went too fast and slid across the floor in my dress and landed in a heap at the feet of a bunch of wedding attendees, so that was awkward. Then Amber-With-Child was there, minus the -With-Child, and she made me take a tour of the dessert tables with her, which literally meant walking through a spiraling corridor full of CAKES AND COOKIES AND CHOCOLATES but every time I would try to take something, she would tug me along. Finally, I snagged something and it turned out to be chocolate-covered paper. Then some girl appeared and kept quoting my blog at me and I was like, “OK that’s great” but she kept saying, “I MEAN AMIRITE?” and I was like “NO I DON’T RECOGNIZE THIS!” And then I was in Cheryl’s kitchen but everything was built for giants and I kept trying to climb up onto a stool but I couldn’t make it. When I told Cheryl the next day In real life, she asked, “But why was my kitchen built for giants?” I looked at her like she was idiotic and said, “Because you and your husband were giants!” God. Try to follow along, Cheryl. She’s the worst, amirite?
    • Meanwhile Henry had a dream that some girl fell down a well and Bradley Scott Walden from Emarosa went down to save her. I was like, “PLZ TELL ME I WAS THE GIRL!?!?”
• The other day, I brought the latest issue of Alternative Press to work and made Glenn look at posters of Pierce the Veil with me. He made some insensitive comment about how they look like hooligans and/or misfits and I just sighed and said, “I like them because they’re Mexican.” Glenn said, “Oh, are they really?” and his tone suggested that maybe that would sway his opinion. “Well….they’re from San Diego” I said with a shrug.
• Rosetta Stone’s “Adrenaline” just came on Spotify and I instinctively reached up to touch my spiked choker of yesteryear. #GothMemories #BlackBible
• Two weekends ago, we were having Weather and Henry was outside shoveling. Hot Naybor Chris asked Henry if we needed any bread, and Henry said we needed hamburger buns, so Chris came back with like 4 grocery bags full of various breads, even a container of croissants and a King Cake. Maybe that love isn’t unrequited after all!
• I decided something pretty major last week: The best Full House episode is the one where they lose Michelle at Disneyworld and the worst Full House episode is the one where they find Michelle at Disneyworld. Runners-up for best are probably the one where Joey is teaching Michelle to ride a bike and she crashes into a bush, followed closely by the one where she runs away and then Joey, Jessie and Danny show up at her friend’s house with all her shit and tell her to have a nice life. But then it ended up being reverse-psychology and she came back home. :(
• “Move your damn tombstone,” Glenn said to me at work, which is pretty normal.
• I fell down the 90s R&B rabbit hole last night (which is a ridiculous sentiment because I live in that rabbit hole) and while poor Henry was trying desperately to sneak away to bed, I was taking him on a tour of videos from the Jason’s Lyric soundtrack.  JASON’S LYRIC WAS MY EVERYTHING IN HIGH SCHOOL YOU GUYS. I saw it at least three times in the theater and that is what taught me what TRU LUV is all about: finding a guy whose brother is embroiled in THUGLYFE and then SAVING HIM (but not the gang member brother–that guy can eat it). This movie came out when I was dating my first real love, Justin Kail and basically he was Jason and I was his Lyric, which is pretty obvious, but then he broke up with me and I would listen to that soundtrack while crying hot, psycho tears like a true Girl, Interrupted. Meanwhile, the letters F, M and L were undulating in Henry’s pupils as I selected the first video: Sovory’s “Love Is Still Enough” which was fan-made and featured pictures and illustrations of all types of black couples, and I would turn every so often and lip-synch into Henry’s face, which he loves. It’s his favorite thing about me, maybe second only to when I eat popcorn and wipe my buttery fingers on the lenses of his glasses.  But then I put on the holy grail of the Jason’s Lyric soundtrack: YOU WILL KNOW, BY BLACK MEN UNITED!! This was like a veritable wet dream for a yo-girl like me in 1994, like my version of porn; all of these hot R&B singers in their prime, hoo-boy. (Of course, back then, my favorite was El DeBarge.) Anyway, right as the video started playing, I said wistfully to Henry, “Man, back then, I could name after last motherfucker on this song. I bet I don’t even know half of them now” right before I began crying out name after name in a breathless frenzy, like I was being timed. like there was a big prize at the end, like I’M A KNOW-IT-ALL. Henry looked more disgusted than impressed, which hurt.

• Then we migrated up to bed, where I continued YouTubing 90s R&B hits on my phone, like Usher’s first big single “Can U Get Wit It.” “I knew about Usher before other white people,” I explained to Henry, because sometimes my megalomania cannot be contained. This inspired a tangent about MTV Veejay Ananda Lewis and how I hated her because she started out on BET’s Teen Summit, and BET was obviously playing Usher from the beginning, you know? Because that’s the shit that BET did. So then Ananda got all big-time and left BET for MTV, where, a few years later, she introduced a video from Usher’s second album and referred to him as a brand new artist WHEN SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT WAS BULLSHIT. While I was spitting about this, I had pulled up her Wiki page and started relaying to Henry some facts about her sorry ass. “I can’t believe it doesn’t say anything about her lying on MTV about Usher,” I murmured. “Wow. Maybe you should add that fact yourself,” Henry suggested in the bored voice that I would probably be using if I was watching a silent film about boring Glenn-like people, doing boring Glenn-like things, like talking about gas fireplaces and looking at clothes dryer manuals.
  • A few minutes later, I blurted out, “I can’t believe I didn’t end up as a teen mom.” Henry looked at me all confused and asked why I would say something like that. “BECAUSE OF ALL THE SEX JAMZ I LISTENED TO BACK THEN!” God, Henry. Go collect some clues with Cheryl.

OK Blog/Only Friend. I’m out.

For Throwback Thursday, I was revisiting old LiveJournal stories when I came across this one from 2004 that sincerely illustrates my relationship with Henry. We are exactly the same! I don’t know if I should be happy that, after 14 years, he still pays enough attention to what I’m doing to feel the need to scold me; or embarrassed that I honestly haven’t matured one tiny smidge. 

The only difference is now that we have a kid, he’s doing twice the scolding. 

Anyway, while I go back to complaining to Henry about my latest workout injuries, please enjoy Our Day at the Homewood Cemetery. 

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

March 28th, 2004

Today at the cemetery, Henry utilized each and every phrase in his repertoire of scolding verbiage.

“Stop it!”

“Shhh!”

“Put that down!”

“You’re a fucking weirdo.”

“People go to jail for that!”

“Leave the cat alone.”

“Get down from there!”

And let’s not forget the obligatory “Grow up.” I need a new walking partner. Any takers? 

We were in one of the mausoleums and there was this one hallway that was completely dark. I was terror-stricken and started running. That constituted a “settle down” from Papa H. We couldn’t get out the one door to leave and naturally, since I’m prone to panicking, I completely forgot that there was another exit. My heart was beating so fast, and Henry started making references to “Phantasm.” (Although he originally kept saying “Hellraiser” until I corrected him. Because I’m the best.) Anyhow, we made it out safely and I informed Henry that I had chills. He was all, “That’s because it was cold in there.” He’s such a parade shitter.

The cat that I saw, though, I think was a ghost. I chased it all over the place, in spite of Henry’s warnings of rabies. 

There was a guy and girl that were cleaning off this one section of graves, and I was trying to contain my laughter, which resulted in my snorting. Henry hissed, “Some people come here for a reason, you know.” He’s such a hater.

The best is the look that he gets on his face when I randomly let loose an ear piercing shriek. Tormenting him is the best part of our relationship.

Lest anyone forget that I am a “Mommy Blogger” 1% of the time, here is an update on that male human I made with the help of sacrificial virgin blood, a full moon, and a Marilyn Manson CD 9 years ago.

1. Kitty Kat Playtime

I absolutely adore Chooch’s piano teacher for a myriad of reasons. Such as: She is adorable. She has played keyboard in various local punk bands. She has cool style. She’s an artist.

But my favorite thing about her is that she has a very laid back, non-traditional approach to teaching and somehow, someway, holds Chooch’s attention. Sure, she’s been teaching him from books here and there because it’s important for him to know the basics, but lately they’ve been branching off and doing their own things. Normally, when I come to pick him up, they’re jamming: Chooch on keyboard, Cheryl on drums. And she’s been helping him write his own songs, one of which is called Kitty Kat Playtime. (Natch.)

Please enjoy a video of Chooch practicing it and try not to cringe along at his mistakes. (This was his first run-thru at home!)

2. Chooch’s Quest For Love

Chooch always gets my old iPhones when I upgrade. He can’t really do much on it since he needs a password to download apps, etc, but he likes to use it to watch YouTube videos and play games. Kids his age having cell phones seems pretty common these days, really, and Henry and I monitor his activity. For instance, he has an email address, which is also linked to my phone so I can see what comes in and goes out. Mostly it’s just him harassing Janna when he forgets his Minecraft password (she’s the one who created his account and will forever live to rue that day),

But then Henry got a new phone. Chooch’s current phone has a shattered screen, so Henry was all, “I’m going to be nice and give you my old phone, so remember that the next time I forget to feed you or pick you up from school.”

Everything was just grand until I was checking my email on my phone and noticed that Chooch had a message in his account.

It was his “daily matches” from FilipinoCrush.com.

My immediate reaction was to freak out, of course. I asked him about it and he shrugged. “It’s probably just spam.”

I felt like this was probably a lie, but then The Real World came back on from commercial and that clearly takes precedence over investigating whether or not my son is leafing through some sordid Internet catalogue of mail order brides.

The next day brought with it a new “daily matches” email. This time, I scrolled all the way through and clicked on “sign in to your profile.”

SONOFABITCH.

He created a profile on FilipinoCupid.com!

Henry grabbed the phone and saw that he had downloaded the app for it because HENRY forgot to make sure these things couldn’t HAPPEN. Great fathering, HENRY!

Once we verified that he hadn’t actually made contact with any hot Filipino singles, Henry deleted the app and then we started cracking up because who knew Chooch had such specific tastes?!

He’s 28 and “willing to relocate,” y’all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now she won’t be there. :(

What kind of dumb luck is that?!

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

JUST AWFUL.*

Ugh.

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

***********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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