Category Archives: bad mood

When it was bad, it was horrid.

I have been writing all day. So…I kind of don’t want to be here. I know! That’s worrisome. I ALWAYS want to be here, my little gumdrops. But I started my freelance job at 9am this morning, and with only a couple of tiny breaks, for food and Dad-chatting and a little emailing, I wrote like a MANIAC today. So, let’s say I wrote for about 8 straight hours today, if we take out about an hour for screwing around. That is a lot of writing. And it wasn’t FUN writing like THIS is. It was WORK writing. Yes, yes, I got to do it on my COUCH with my CAT all curled up next to me, so that’s nice, but still, that’s a lot of writing, yo. And I’m not sure if it’s…um…any good? So I sent it over for feedback today and now I have to wait and see. Let’s hope it’s ok. I really don’t want to have to do it again. (And by the way, it was only 1/3 of the freelancing job. 2/3 of it left to go, next week, I think, is the deadline on the rest of it. I assume that’s only if what I did today was ok? Not really sure. It is a FANCY FANCY life I lead, no?)

Ooh, here’s me today. Except, well, not at all me. But similarly disheveled and grumpy.

So this week’s another crazy one in Amy-land. Lots of work. Lots of things to do. Lots of things to think about. Whoo! I’m ready for a break. Anyway, work work work, theater thing, work work work MORE work and sometimes maybe I will sleep a little which will be nice because then I can turn my brain off. It…hasn’t been the best day? I won’t go into detail. Just hasn’t. Got some news, some good, some bad, and although the good was very very good, just like the girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead, the bad was very very bad, ALSO like the girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead, because you know how that goes. Horrid, is how that goes. I don’t…adapt well to U-turns. Today was a U-turn. I think I might have failed that part of the driving test. So, just horrid. Yeah. A day. It has been a day.

This…well, this is terrifying. What’s with this kid’s face, anyway?

Anyway, so there’s that. Let’s attempt to put that in our rearviews, ok? Yeah. Let’s do that. Let’s see, what’s up. Well, today (many days ago, for you) Blog Tour week started over at Insatiable Booksluts! That’s fun! Today (or…yeah, again, many days ago, for you) there’s a giveaway – you can get my book! For free! – and there’s an interview with me! You can find out things like a word I love, and a food item I think is an abomination. Oh, plus poetry stuff, of course. More stuff is upcoming, too! It’s going to be a week FULL of adventures! It’s like vicarious bon vivantery. You know how much I like to bon vivant.

One of my lovely Twitter friends sent me this the other day. An INSTRUCTION manual! Oh, I like this so much.

Oh, last night was night of all the television and THE WALKING DEAD is back! And you’d think I’d be SO EXCITED about that! You know I love my zombies. But…eh. I didn’t care as much as I should have. Do you think I’m broken? I found it more entertaining that someone ran into the camera with their face on The Amazing Race than I did with what went down on The Walking Dead last night. I know. I may be broken. In my defense, I was distracted by this thing I was doing so I may not have been paying as much attention as I should have been. But…I don’t know. I didn’t find it as exciting as I have in the past. I guess you see people kill zombies in a gross and repulsive way, you’re over it? I don’t know. I’m at a loss. It seems to still be good. People still seemed to like it a lot. I think it’s just me and I am broken. (But, in Amazing Race news, sj and I are totally the most famous, because after our marathon “discuss The Amazing Race” time on Twitter, TWO OF THE CAST MEMBERS TWEETED US. So I’m pretty sure we win Twitter, right? What’s that? That doesn’t mean we win Twitter? Oh, I think it does, Naysayer Nellie. My mom was mucho impressed, anyway. And she’s not easy to impress, so therefore, WE WIN TWITTER. Yes, yes, she was ALSO impressed when Tom Cruise started following me but let’s not talk about that part since he only started following me when I made fun of his scary teeth AND HE STILL HASN’T STOPPED.)

Look at our new friends! Aw, aren’t they adorable? They totally are, and one of them ran into the CAMERA with her FACE this week, which is something I would totally do.

OK, so later this week American Horror Story is back. Am I going to be so filled with malaise about my OTHER most favorite show, or am I going to be excited about it? It’s just an utter mystery, isn’t it? (I’m already a little trepidacious, to be honest. The second season of something that was that good the first time around might be terrible, since they’re completely changing the format. But we’ll see.)

This will be good. It will, right? It’s in an ASYLUM. Asylums are totally scary.

OK. This is short. And I know! I know. You’re all (well, those of you that like such things) so disappointed and “AMY WHAT THE HELL THIS IS NOT WHAT WE PAID FOR.” My brain’s a melty melty thing at the moment and I’ve got nothing more in me and like I said, it’s been a day. I have a thing I have to do soon, and it’s not something I’m looking forward to. And then I’m going to go to bed and I’m hoping it’s like when you can’t fix your computer so you just turn the whole thing off hoping that will fix it. But by the time you read this, things might be all better, who knows. That’s the fun of writing to you from the past.

(Psst: no more freelancing job. It…kind of fell through? No more details I can share. But it’s now in the past. It is an ex-freelancing job and possibly also an ex-parrot. So, I guess that means more time to frig around on the internet and less money in my pocket. Dear today: you’ve been a peach, thanks for adding insult to injury, I adore you so. YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, TODAY.)

Hey, past-Amy, cheer up, buttercup. Love, future-Amy. Ooh, maybe here in the future we have FLYING CARS. I utterly CAN NOT WAIT.


When you feel sad, or under a curse; your life is bad, your prospects are worse

Things have been…um…weird lately. Not overly cheerful. I know, I know, no one promised anyone a rose garden. Which is fine. Roses are kind of sneezy anyway. Cliched. I’d rather have some nice tulips. Or daisies. I’m not a smelly-flower fan. Who cares, it’s not like I’m getting all the flowers delivered, why are we even talking about this. I’m firmly in the camp of “flowers just die and then you have to throw ’em away, give me a nice houseplant instead, at least that lasts a few months before its inevitable death from the teeth of Dumbcat.”

Aw, pretty! So cheerful.

So I asked the internet, “internet,” said I, “how can I cheer up? I am grumpy. And sometimes randomly weepy. Because of the worries. And the working a million hours at weird times at my part-time job so my sleep schedule’s all weird.”

The internet was PLEASED to tell me how to be more cheerful! SO CHEERFUL. Thanks, internet!

Look how cheerful Anne Hathaway is! Even though apparently she is standing in a wind tunnel!

This article told me how to “train your brain to be more positive.” Well, that’s going to be helpful. I have a brain! Perhaps my brain is like a recalcitrant puppy and it needs to be trained not to pee on the rug. That’ll be good. I also like that the article ADMITS it sounds corny. And it’s from the Wall Street Journal, too. So that’s reputable! Let’s see what happens.

The things this article says to do:

  • change all your online passwords to positive things like “iam1awesomelaydee” or “iamasuperstar***!”
  • treat yourself like your own best friend
  • focus on the positive, not the negative
  • make yourself pictures and posters and things that are cheerful and hang them up and look at them when you are sad
  • take small breaks during a bad day to improve your bad day (go out for ice cream! go for dinner with a friend!)
  • write down all the things you are grateful for at the end of each day
  • talk out loud to yourself about all the positive things about yourself
  • help your friends with their problems because that will make you forget your own
  • think about your problems rationally; maybe they aren’t real problems at all
  • make a list of things you love doing and do one of them every day
  • make a list of things you hate doing and see which you can stop doing
  • fake being happy; to do this, hold a pencil in your mouth which will make you look like you’re smiling

Um. Well. Some of these things are less stabby than others.

I’m not changing all my passwords again. I just had to change them all recently and I STILL don’t remember them all. I have to try like a million combinations before I can get into my sites. If I changed them to something positive like “iamthekingoftheworld1234!” and then forgot it, I think it would make me MORE depressed. Wouldn’t it? If I couldn’t even remember my positive affirmations? Yes.

LOCK IT DOWN! With positive cheerful words! That will make you SO HAPPY!

I’m all for treating myself like my own best friend. I’m a good friend. Well, I’m a better friend when I have more time to BE a friend, because right now I am one suck of a friend (sorry, friends) but when I have the time to invest and not just throw out a few emails all “I LOVE YOU I MISS YOU I’M SORRY I SUCK,” I do alright. I’d take me as a friend. And I’ve mentioned this before, I know – we’d never treat a friend the way we treat ourselves. We’re always saying to ourselves how stupid and ugly and useless we are (well, women do – do men do this? Or, do they do this as much as women do?) but we would NEVER say this to a friend. Or in some cases, even an enemy. So why are we saying it to ourselves? I’m down with this one, Wall Street Journal.

Ugh, EVERY SELF HELP THING EVER tells you to focus on the positive and not the negative. Here’s the scoop, guru. That’s easier said than done. It’s really easy to be all “isn’t the sun GORGEOUS today?” when you have enough food and money and rest. It is LESS easy to concentrate on the small happy things when you have the weight of the world. And also when you are prone to depression. So, sure, tell me to concentrate on the positive. Keep sayin’ it. And I will smile at you with a lot of teeth and keep doing my best and only hate your face a little bit. I feel the same way about writing down all the things I am grateful for at the end of each day. Yes, yes. I should probably DO it, but it feels a little too hippy-dippy goofy for me and also, as mentioned, I’m not feeling especially grateful at the moment.

I will do my best not to cram your bullhorn up your…ahem. I will do my best.

I’m not doing an arts-and-crafts project and hanging it on my wall. That would not end well. This is not kindergarten. This is my home. What would I even WRITE on the poster? “YOU ARE AWESOME YOU WILL GET A JOB.” And, what, glue macaroni and glitter to it? No. No, I don’t think I will do that. That’s messy and I don’t have time to vacuum. Also, it would throw off the DAY-CORE in here. The DAY-CORE in here is…um…well, I guess it’s not shabby chic. Just shabby, I guess. Shabby and dusty.

Macaroni HAMBURGER! All this would do is make me want a REAL hamburger.

I don’t have time for small breaks and I don’t have money for ice cream or dinner. I have twenty minutes for a sandwich in the breakroom at work and sometimes I have time for breakfast if I wake up in time. What, you think I’m FANCY, Wall Street Journal? Well, this is written for people who have stocks and bonds and shit, I suppose. I don’t have those things. Well, shit, I don’t know. I might. I still have money in my 401(k) and maybe some of that’s in stocks and bonds. I don’t know what that money’s doing. Sitting there waiting for me to get poor enough to pull it out, I suppose.

I’m going to walk around positive-affirmationing under my breath for the next week or so. “I love this weather…my friends are really the best people in the world…at least I don’t have to go back to THAT job again…” and you know what that will accomplish? Making people think I’m out of my mind. Well, at least that will keep people away from me. And I don’t like people, much. So I guess that’s a win, overall.

I am HAPPY to help my friends with their problems. HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT, FRIENDS. However, I don’t think it’s going to make me forget anything going on in my life. I mean, maybe while I’m helping but it’s not like helping gives you amnesia. I don’t think that’s how brains work.

Um…I guess if you’re a kook, you might be making your teeny molehill-problems into mountain-problems. I’m sure I’m guilty of this at one point or another in my life. But this isn’t pertaining at the moment. I’m going to ignore it. I’m going to exercise that right. Sorry, Wall Street Journal.

Make a list of things you love doing and do one every day; make a list of things you hate doing and maybe don’t do some of them. THIS LIST IS EXHAUSTING ME. OK, I have enough time to do EXACTLY what I’m doing every day and nothing else. End of story. And things I hate doing? Um. I don’t love doing the dishes, but I think it’d be slightly catastrophic, vermin-wise, if I stopped doing them. Also, I think eventually I’d run out of dishes. It’s not like I have an infinite amount of them.

Not my dishes. I do mine every day, actually. I’m weird about there being dirty dishes in my sink. It’s a fairly recent obsession.

BUT! Then we get to the LAST tip, and YES! there we go. I’ve been doing it ALL WRONG! I need to be walking around with a pencil in my mouth! Which will be hard to keep there while I’m talking to myself, but I WILL PERSEVERE. (Honestly, I don’t know if faking happy makes you happy, but it fools people into thinking you are, because people see what they want to see. So if you don’t want people to know you’re depressed, just put on a happy face, like the song says. Works about 99% of the time. The only people it doesn’t fool are your closest friends and your worst enemies because they know you the best. No, seriously! Your closest friends obviously know you the best, but your worst enemies keep an eye on you – it’s the nature of enemy-ship – so they notice. It’s a weird thing, I’m sure someone has an explanation for it.)

Well! What have we learned today, apple dumplings? Apparently being cheerful is mind over matter and you have to trick yourself. Which is probably easier said than done if you are a., unintelligent or b., not filled with genetically-transmitted depression. So now I’m going to make myself a posterboard with ALL THE GLITTER AND MACARONI WORDS that spells out “LIFE IS SO SO AWESOME ZOMG” and that’ll fix it.

The article also said not to fall back on chocolate to boost your mood. I think the best tip was the one it told you not to do and I’m going to eat some chocolate now.

(Title’s from Godspell. Talk about your hippy-crunchy-granola things. I loves me some Godspell, yo. Check this out. Who’s that playing Jesus? Yep. Victor effing Garber, is who.)


I’m just a little black rain cloud, pay no attention to me

Dear blog readers, I am in a mood of foulness that has followed me around like Winnie the Pooh as a little black raincloud all day, only nowhere near as cute. Like, near-to-posting emo STATUSES foul. Can you even imagine? I know. It’s that bad.

Work is the suck, and people are the suck, and stress levels are high, and tears have happened in bathrooms. It has not been a good day. Although, you’re reading this on Thursday, maybe Thursday is a better day. Maybe the raincloud lifted, what the hell do I know.

ANYWAY, I am not fit for human consumption today, because I’m totally going to snap someone’s head right off. I am going to a play tonight, and it’s a play I’m very much looking forward to seeing, starring some of my favorite people, but all I want to do is pull covers up over my head and have a good long cry, followed by an equally long mope. And some Dumbcat-cuddling, he makes things better.

I would go into more detail, but that’s along the lines of emo statuses, isn’t it? Being all vague and “you know what you did”-y and whatever because the people whose heads I want to snap off are probably reading this right now? And, NO, don’t you even DARE message me asking if you’re one of the head-snapping-off people, if you don’t know, the answer is, YES, you probably are. And even if you’re not, I’m going to TELL you that you are for sending me an asshole message and trying to make me be the custodian of your neuroses.

Anyway. You’re here for the funny, right? I’ve got no funny. No funny to give. I’m all weepy like a frigging eyeliner teen.

Let’s talk about two things, then I’m off to the play.

One: President Obama did a brave thing.

In an election year, he came out in support of same-sex marriage. Both he and Vice President Biden did, actually.

Now, he did this Wednesday, and he was in Albany (the awesomemest place ever to awesome) Tuesday. COINCIDENCE? YOU BE THE JUDGE.  FINE, it was probably coincidence, but I’ll pretend it wasn’t. Just to make myself happy.

Here’s Obama, in his own words:

“I have to tell you that over the course of several years, as I have talked to friends and family and neighbors, when I think about members of my own staff who are in incredibly committed monogamous relationships, same-sex relationships, who are raising kids together, when I think about those soldiers or airmen or marines or sailors who are out there fighting on my behalf and yet feel constrained, even now that ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ is gone, because they are not able to commit themselves in a marriage, at a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same-sex couples should be able to get married.”

And here’s Joe Biden, who’s quite often got the Amy foot-in-mouth disease, but here came through like a champ:

“I am absolutely comfortable with the fact that men marrying men, women marrying women, and heterosexual men and women marrying another are entitled to the same exact rights, all the civil rights, all the civil liberties. And quite frankly, I don’t see much of a distinction beyond that.”

It’s an election year. This is scary, because the President and Vice President potentially just alienated a lot of (coughhomophobichatefilledassholescough) voters. Sorry. That was rude. Some people are also old, like my grandmother, and think that if same-sex marriage is legal, she’ll be FORCED to marry a woman. Because that’s what Fox News told her. I wish that was a joke. If it makes you feel better to pretend it is, go to.

But they did it. Because they believed it, and because it was the right thing to do. Why else would they have done it? They could have merrily kept waffling about it, like they have for the past four years. I mean, we’ve all been grumbling for them to take a stand one way or the other, but no one could force them to show their hand. Really, it probably hurt them more than helped them to do it, right? Or maybe Obama watched Fox News one day, like I was forced to all last week, and realized, “meh, those people hate me so much, there’s no coming back from that, in for a penny, in for a pound, let’s do this, Biden!” My mom thinks they did it FOR votes, but I don’t think so. I think we’re still a country with more people against than for, unfortunately.

Listen, you all know where I stand on this. I’m not too shy about my feelings on the matter. I’m lucky enough to live in a state where it is legal. But North Carolina this week approved a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage. We’re still living in the middle ages in some states, here. This is a hot-button topic. You don’t meet too many people with no opinion on this one.

Do I love everything Obama? Nope. Was I going to vote for him anyway? Hell yes, look at my options. I’d like to retain control over my lady-bits, not much of a chance of that if we go Romney, now is there? (“THERE IS NO WAR ON WOMEN!!!” Shh, Dad.) But now I’m a little happier about my vote. So, thanks, Obama and Biden, for standing up for what’s right. Much appreciated from those of us who realize that there’s nothing scary about allowing consenting adults who love one another to get married. Well, except for the fact that WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?!?!?!1?!? I’m kidding, I’m kidding, the children are FINE, shush up.

This made me snort-laugh today. He looks so matter-of-fact. “Just another day on my unicorn! Shooting rainbow lasers! As you do!”

Two: Science has an explanation for social media. SURPRISE! IT’S SEXY.

According to this article, both talking about oneself and bragging about oneself (they’re…not at all the same thing, actually? But the article really doesn’t make a distinction, weird) triggers the same parts of your brain triggered during sex (dopamine, for you sciency folks.) So, according to SCIENCE, when you tweet or update your Facebook status, you get a little high that’s kind of like the high you get from having sex.

Social media totally gives you the O Face, apparently. Who knew?

The scientists did this study where people could answer questions online for money. They were given more money if they answered questions about abstract things, like politics, and less if they talked about themselves. Most opted to talk about themselves. (How much money? I’d answer Trivial Pursuit questions like a BOSS and stop talking about myself at ALL if you paid me enough.)

OK, listen, I like to talk about myself as much as the next gal (bragging…um, well, I don’t know about that, what the hell would I brag about, I live in a place that’s smaller than most of your garages and we currently need a litter change all up in here, just saying) but I’d just like to say that, for the record, I’ve had sex, and I’ll choose that over updating my Facebook status every. Single. Time. Tweeting – um, well, I’m a little addicted to that. Let’s say, 75% of the time I’d choose the sex. If tweeting and Facebook status updating are supposed to make me feel all sex-euphoric, I’m doing it wrong. Wait, am I supposed to be naked while I’m tweeting and Facebooking? Dammit, this isn’t working for me at ALL. Are my dopamine injectors broken? Oh, that would be JUST LIKE MY BRAIN. What? There’s no such thing as a dopamine injector? Well, that would explain why mine isn’t WORKING, now WOULDN’T IT?

Is this fishy to anyone else? NO THAT’S NOT A EUPHEMISM. Or are you all experiencing sex-highs from social media and I got nothing? Eff.

I’m back from the play. It was wonderful, but I’m exhausted. Also, as good as it was, it did nothing to alleviate my crankiness, and the asshole people are still being asshole people. Also, once?  I had a crush on a guy? And that ended poorly. And now whenever I see him my stomach hurts. Did I see him tonight? (And did he look frigging amazing? And smell so, so good, WHY MUST YOU MEN SMELL SO GOOD? It makes it nigh-on impossible to hate you when you smell like lusciousness.)  Well, I have a stomachache, you do the math.  ALSO, did you ever have a bad day, then it’s like the Jenga of bad days, where EVERYTHING just EFFING KEEPS GOING WRONG and you take a BLOCK from the BOTTOM and you PUT IT ON TOP and then the WHOLE EFFING THING FALLS RIGHT THE EFF DOWN? That. I’ve got that today.

Here’s a story that will undoubtedly bring cheer to someone who isn’t me, because I’m in a dark pit of mad that not even The Nephew can rescue me from. Then I’m going to bed, dammit.

So The Nephew goes to storytime at the local library. There are ten kids. They listen to stories, play little games, etc. Mom said yesterday, the story lady gave all the kids a penny. Now, The Nephew was STOKED. He was SO EXCITED. Someone gave him money! Then the story lady put ten felt donuts on a felt board, told a little story about someone selling donuts for a penny (what kind of dark magick is this? I want to live in penny-donut-land), and then called the kids up, one by one, and had them pay her their penny for a felt donut. Yeah, I know. It’s the stupidest, I don’t get it, either. I feel like something’s been lost in translation. So she called The Nephew’s name, he went up, he got his felt donut, he sat down, good kiddo. Then she kept telling the donut story (what the hell else is there to tell? This storytime is LAME, I would ROCK storytime, can you even IMAGINE how good I’d be at storytime? Those kids would NOT know what HIT them) and Mom said a few minutes in, a little voice said, “Can I have my penny back now?” and yep, it was The Nephew. He didn’t want that lame felt donut. Who would? It’s all about CASH MONEY BABY. So story lady ignored him, so he apparently thought it was because he wasn’t loud enough? So he was all, “CAN I HAVE MY PENNY BACK NOW?” and finally she was all “Ha ha! No! You can’t, you…um…already ATE your donut!” (This might go down as the dumbest thing anyone ever told a toddler in the “I put anything in my mouth ever” stage in the history of time.) So The Nephew looked at the felt donut, shrugged, and popped that thing right in his pie-hole. Story lady is all, “WE DON’T EAT THE FELT DONUTS!” Well, LISTEN, lady, you’re the one handing out money to toddlers, then making them trade it for a metaphoric handful of beads. Then telling them to EAT THE FELT DONUTS. Don’t be surprised when they follow orders. Weirdo.

Off to bed. Hoping for cheerierness tomorrow. Or I might punch someone in the uvula. That’s frowned upon in polite society, I think.


Listen, Internet, please don’t murder my dad when he’s driving to Florida. Thanks.

Oh, you guys. I am wiped. So, so wiped. I would love to tell you that I had time today to come up with this well-plotted and jolly post for you all, I really would. But work killed me. Utterly killed me. And now I’m sitting here with my cheery laptop cheerily waiting for me to cheerily type you a cheery blog post and I HAVE NOTHING. My brain is FRIED.

I’m not saying I’m not writing anything. I’m just saying it’s going to be a mess. More so than usual. And you can expect more of the same this week. Also, I’m cranky as hell. Just be forewarned about the crank. NO not the drug-type crank. I don’t even know what that is. Is it cocaine or something? I am not up on the terminology of the streets, yo.

Let me break this week down for you, because I know my life is totally the most interesting to all of you.

April 17 is the absolute last day we have to efile taxes. That’s a week from today. We have thousands of clients. There is one person in the office in charge of efiling all of those clients, and her name is The Person Who is Writing this Blog.

I have seven more work days until the 17th. Seven, because I’m working at least 8, if not 10, hours there on Saturday, just so when I come in Monday, I don’t drown.

So, this week coming up:

Tuesday: the suck. And I will go to the library and post office at lunch. So that’s nice. It’s like a little field trip. And likely will be the only lunch break I get until this is all over with.
Wednesday: the suck, a little more.
Thursday: the suck, a little more.
Friday: the suck, even more of a little more.
Saturday: the suck, now with added suck. But there’s a rumor we’re getting a catered lunch.
Sunday: I will sleep until about 7:30am, like a decadent lady, and write all day to have posts ready for the week ahead. Because that’s how I spend my Sundays. I’m supposed to do a theater thing, but I think I might beg off and go to bed early. I know, I’m a total party animal.
Monday: the suck, with added yelling, pressure, and possible bathroom-weeping.
Tuesday: the ultimate suck, with the most yelling, sometimes veiled threats, clients being loud, and not enough antacid to make the day acceptable.

After Tuesday, things are still pretty suck, because the office gets to be a mess, and it’s my job to clean it up, file everything, make it pretty, mail a million papers to the IRS, etc. But once the week is over, things will slow down. And then, at the end of the month, TRIP TO FLORIDA! Which, by the way, I just counted, is about two and a half weeks away.

I’m attempting to be very Little-Engine-that-Could about the whole thing. And not bathroom-weep. I didn’t on Monday. I came CLOSE, but didn’t bathroom-weep. I’m quite proud of myself.

Oh, OH, and, the only thing that’s kept me halfway sane throughout this whole hellish season? The one thing that I don’t know how I lived without before now, and I was JUST SAYING to myself the other day, “man, I’d be in a lot of trouble of this was gone, you know?”

Twitter.

What was gone when I got to work Monday?

Twitter.

It’s not BLOCKED, because why do something SANE, IT department. The screen looks like a computer from the 80s – like it can’t load all the way? And there are no graphics, and it’s that old-school text? And you can’t click on anything. And for some reason you can only see retweets.

I found a weird screen where I think I can still tweet. But I can’t see responses, not until my lunchbreak or after work.

I know. I KNOW. I’m not SUPPOSED to be tweeting at work. I’m supposed to be WORKING. But I like knowing it’s there. And I like that once and a while I can tweet someone. Or read some tweets. It helps keep me level, knowing my people are out there.

So, until this situation is either rectified, or maybe FOREVER, people I love, if you want me, you know how to reach me, during business hours. You have been given my contact info. Please use it. Please use it a lot. Because, for the time being? Gmail is STILL WORKING. Also Facebook. Yeah, I don’t understand the reasoning behind blocking Twitter sort-of and not blocking the biggest social networking site in the world, either. Stupid weird hard-to-figure-out-IT. If you have NOT been given my contact info, I’ll get back to you when I get home. Eventually. The time of that is kind of not set in stone right now.

OK. On to other things that are not pissing me off so much I dropped things from high heights today just to hear the satisfying smacking noise.

Remember last week when we talked about animal match.com? Well, apparently this captured the imagination of one of my readers. AW! YOU GUYS! How much fun is that? I like to be an imagination-capturer. I’ll give it back. I won’t keep it. That’d be a dick move.

Em at 35 Jupiter Drive posted this awesome post today: AnimalAttraction Dot Com. Please click through. It is FUN and WACKY and I highly approve.

THANK YOU EM! I had a really crappy day and this made me smile. A lot.

Oh, also, I talked to Dad tonight. He’s on his way to Florida tomorrow. Talking to Dad will be seriously diminished over the next couple of weeks. This is sad-face.

BUT, as usual, when talking to Dad, I had some interesting moments.

Me: So, you’re leaving tomorrow?
Dad: Yes. I should be there in a couple of days, unless I die or the car breaks down.
Me: Well. That’s cheery, right? Way to be cheery.
Dad: Yes. I’m very cheery. I haven’t slept in days.
Me: Probably that’ll be a fun trip, then.
Dad: Listen, when you get to Florida, we’re going to go see some manatees.

ZOMG MANATEES!!!!

Me: WHAT?
Dad: Yes. Your uncle went on a boat trip to see manatees. We’re going to do that.
Me: Is this to make up for those Black Panthers?
Dad: I don’t want to talk about those Black Panthers.
Me: Do you think they’re listening to us right now?
Dad: I SAID I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT. Also we’ll see crocodiles.

Dammit, I would totally like to pet a crocodile. Are we sure it would eat my hand?

Me: This is AWESOME. I am VERY EXCITED about this. Think of the pictures I can take! This is almost as exciting as kookaburras!
Dad: I thought you might like it. You love weird things.
Me: Can I pet the manatees?
Dad: You always want to pet everything. No. I don’t think so.
Me: What about the crocodiles?
Dad: Only if you want them to eat your hand. Then you’ll end up like that guy in that stupid golf movie with Bob Barker.
Me: Aw, I like that movie. It makes me laugh.
Dad: You would. That stupid Saturday Night Live guy always makes you laugh.
Me: Not any more. We broke up. He did a movie where he played his own twin sister. It’s sad.
Dad: Oh, I’m going to get some chickens, you could tell the internet that if you want.

If Dad gets chickens, I can totally pet them when I go home. He's right, you know. I do want to pet all the animals.

Me: Whoa, segue. What? Chickens?
Dad: Yep. I got a book. From the LIBRARY.
Me: This is truly a day of firsts. Why are you becoming a gentleman farmer all of a sudden?
Dad: I like chickens.
Me: Who doesn’t? Where will you keep them?
Dad: In the backyard.
Me: Um. OK. This is a very left-field kind of idea. You hate animals!
Dad: Don’t tell the internet I hate animals. The internet doesn’t need to know that. I don’t HATE animals. I just don’t like to be bothered by things or people or things.
Me: Yeah, and just in case anyone ever worries we’re not related, I’m going to point them to that sentence right there. Oh, listen, I told Ken you were very impressed he lived in Munich because of the beer and Oktoberfest.
Dad: Oh, that’s the best. When I was there, we had bock beer. And we drank a lot of it. Then everyone linked arms and went “Oom pa pa! Oom pa pa!” Don’t tell the internet I said “Oom pa pa.”

Holy crap, look at all these people. I would utterly die, were I to go to Oktoberfest. I HATE CROWDS. I will not be taking my fancy European trip while THIS nonsense is occurring, I can tell you right now.

Me: I’m going to.
Dad: I know you are. Does your friend drink all the beer?
Me: I don’t know. If he does, he doesn’t broadcast it.
Dad: That seems suspicious. Not drinking all the beer when you live in Munich is something an assassin would do.
Me: Or maybe just a normal person with a LIFE who doesn’t get DRUNK all the time, sheesh, DAD. There’s beer here, but I don’t drink it constantly. Or ever. And I’m not an assassin.
Dad: But it’s not GERMAN beer. Also, you hate beer. Does this guy hate beer? Damn assassin.
Me: I don’t think he hates beer. I’ll ask him the next time we talk.
Dad: Just don’t tell him where I live. Because I don’t want that assassin knowing where I live.
Me: What if he brought you bock beer and sang “Oom pa pa” with you?
Dad: Hmm. That’s a tough call. I’d have to keep my eye on him the whole time. Because he’d want to kill me. But he did bring beer, so I’m kind of torn.
Me: Oh, listen, while you’re gone, who will give me Helper Mule updates?
Dad: No one. Also, I was thinking today, what if that woman-horse isn’t even pregnant? What if she’s just fat?
Me: That would be the best trick. A total Helper Mule soap opera twist.
Dad: You turned Helper Mule into a soap opera?
Me: Of course I did. Who wouldn’t? It’s all about how Helper Mule is going to be a baby-daddy.
Dad: Helper Mule can’t be a baby-daddy because he’s a mule.
Me: Not GENETICALLY. He’s going to adopt his lady-friend’s baby and raise it like his own. He’s very selfless, and helpful.
Dad: Oh, did I ever tell you that the guy with the Helper Mule also has dogs?
Me: No. What kind of dogs?
Dad: The kind that bite you when you’re walking around. I want to kick them all the time.
Me: I don’t think that’s a real breed.
Dad: Fine. Weiner dogs.

BITEY WEINER DOGS!

Me: I like dachshunds! They’re bitey?
Dad: THEY ARE THE WORST. He’s got a whole zoo over there.
Me: I am SO EXCITED to see that this summer. I’m taking a million pictures.
Dad: OK, I have to go to sleep now, because tomorrow I want to make it to Pennsylvania.
Me: ZOMG. Are you going to visit Jim?
Dad: I don’t know who that is.
Me: JIM IS MY FUN BLOGGING FRIEND. You should visit Jim, you would get along like gangbusters. Also, he is a very big fan of Amy’s Dad.
Dad: Do you think when I’m driving to Florida, I’ll stop and get gas and people will crowd around my car and say, “Amy’s Dad! We are HUGE FANS!” and then murder me?
Me: I’d say that was probably unlikely. You overestimate the reach of my blog. And I only put one photo of you on there. I’m sure they’ve forgotten that by now.
Dad: YOU DID WHAT!?!??!
Me: It was from almost forty years ago. You don’t look like that anymore. For example, in the picture, you had HAIR.
Dad: You know, you’re really just the meanest daughter I have. I’m not visiting your friend Jim and now I’m pretty sure I’m going to be murdered because the internet knows what I look like. They are TRACKING ME NOW.
Me: Yes. Probably they are. You’re right.
Dad: I SENSE YOUR SARCASM. I TAUGHT YOU THAT TONE OF VOICE.
Me: Sorry. I hope the internet doesn’t murder you as you drive to Florida.
Dad: Also, I have to make sure whatever hotel I stay in tomorrow has the channel with Justified on it so I can see the finale.
Me: You should ask them that when you check in. “Do you have the channel with Justified? Oh, also, do you have bedbugs?”
Dad: They’d never tell you if they had bedbugs. Even if they did, they’d lie.
Me: Oh, that’s why you need me with you. You need to TRICK them.
Dad: You can’t trick them. They know all the tricks.
Me: No, not this one. Ready? “Hello, I am a scientist. I am studying hotels with bedbugs but I can’t find any. I have much money to stay in a hotel, but only one with bedbugs! Please tell me you’re that hotel?”
Dad: NICE. Then they’d tell you the truth!
Me: Then you can say, “HA! You were TRICKED, you bedbug-ridden fleabag hotel!” Then you go stay at the Motel Six with the magic fingers bed or something.
Dad: When you were little, you always wanted to stay in a hotel with excellent vending machines because you always thought they’d have exotic snack foods and beds with magic fingers because whenever you saw them in a movie they made you laugh.
Me: And my tastes have not changed much. These are both things I still enjoy. I have yet to find a magic-fingers bed in my whole LIFE, though. It’s the saddest failing, I can’t even tell you.
Dad: When we’re in Florida I can wake you up by kicking your bed really really hard. That’s like magic fingers.
Me: If you sneak in my happy seaside bedroom and kick my bed I’m throwing you off the balcony, old man. Go to bed. I’ll let Jim know to expect you for dinner tomorrow.
Dad: I AM NOT VISITING INTERNET PEOPLE TOMORROW DAMMIT.

There. Yes, yes, I know. This post didn’t have a point, really. But it had a Dad-conversation. You like those, right? Sure, sure you do.

Off to sleep. Send vibes to my work computer. If I go in tomorrow and Twitter’s back up, I’m going to do bathroom-weeping. But HAPPY bathroom-weeping. That’s a thing, right? Sure. Sure it is.


Yellow dancing and purple tears and WHAT IS HAPPENING

This is probably going to be scattery.  I’m in the midst of a project that is taking a bit of time and also brain power. It’s almost done, my little tater tots. Promise promise. I’ll be better early next week. Or maybe mid-April when tax season’s over. There’s an end in sight, I’m saying.

Anyway.

FRIDAY WAS THE DAY FROM HELL.

So in the clerical pool at work, there is me – full-time clerical drudge – and my co-worker K., part-time clerical drudge. K. had to take a vacation day yesterday, or she would stop accruing vacation time. I love K. Like bunches and tons. I don’t want her to stop accruing vacation time. I want her to have ALL the vacation time.

But when I got into work Friday, already KNOWING it was going to be complete and utter chaos with only me to deal with it, it was WORSE than that. Apparently, the tax elves had been busy overnight, so there were tax returns EVERYWHERE for me to work on. Plus all the typing. And filing. And the myriad other things I do in a day. Because I am VERY IMPORTANT. Like a junk drawer, where you put all the junk you don’t want but know you can’t get rid of? I’m where you junk all the jobs you don’t want, but know need to be done. Doesn’t that make me feel ever-so-fine? Sure does, bub.

So I worked and I toiled and I worked and I toiled and people came in and were mad I wasn’t working on THEIR job and they’d leave and ANOTHER person would come in and be all, “WHAT ABOUT MY JOB” and I just kept gesturing toward K.’s desk and muttering, “I’m doing the best I can.”

Then I started randomly humming “Totally Fucked” (sorry, did you need a cuss warning? Too tired to give one) under my breath (from Spring Awakening, because what better to help me out than a musical on the worst day of tax season yet?) because it entertained me that they just thought I was humming, possibly because I was mentally deranged, but really in my head, the lyrics “Yeah, you’re fucked all right, and all for spite, you can kiss your sorry ass goodbye, totally fucked, will they mess you up? Well you know they’re gonna try” were on repeat, LOUDLY, and it was AWESOME. Because they had NO IDEA. They thought I was humming a PRETTY LITTLE DITTY. Well, there you go, coworkers. THERE YOU GO. I was WELL-AWARE of my predicament, and I had the PERFECT SONG in my head to go with it, thank you very much.

Here’s the song. Starring my man Jonathan Groff. YOU ARE WELCOME. (Yes, I know it’s douchey some asshat filmed a live performance. But! GROFFFF!)

Also, I told one of my coworkers that I was pretty sure work had murdered my soul (this was after a billion other things went wrong and I was kind of chastised for something that wasn’t even WRONG and I was SO PISSED) and she was all, “Well, good, it’s about time, it’s a lot easier to work here if your soul is dead.”

I work at a place where it’s EASIER TO WORK IF YOUR SOUL HAS DIED.

I think maybe this is a huge old flashy warning sign, right?

Oh, and, there’s this thing where I have to sign up for a mentor, and I might have asked the lady in charge of it if my mentor would be able to help me with my career path of NOT LOSING MY SHIT. Probably that wasn’t wise as she’s in HR. I might be unemployed now. (If you’re interested, her answer was, in a soothing voice, “We may be able to find some resources to help you with that!” YOU GUYS I THINK MY OFFICE IS SENDING ME TO ANGER MANAGEMENT. Imagine the blogging potential there!)

Anyway. Then on my lunch break, I decided I had to get out or I would die, so I ran some errands, but one of the places I called to make sure that it would be open? Not open. Why would you be a liar? That’s disheartening. And also, every single person I got behind was driving SO SO SLOW and I was TOTALLY ROAD RAGEY and I wanted to punch everyone in the neck twice.

Yeah, so I had kind of a shit day.

But then things got better when I got home, and I had a package waiting for me in the mail which I will, once I have time, blog about in more detail, because it gave me such joy, and I got to talk to my dad (his solution for how much work sucks? “Record everything everyone says to you.” When I said, “What good would that do? Who would I give the recording to?” he didn’t have an answer. This doesn’t seem like much of a solution, to tell you the truth, but I love him for trying), and I learned that “doof” is German for “stupid” and that’s just a fun word to say, right? Apparently, you say it like “loaf” and not “roof.” You know, in case you wanted to call your cat that over and over. Not that anyone in THIS house would do that. And if they did, they did it in a loving VOICE, I mean, come ON.

So anyway, I was doing some stuff and driving around and two songs came on that bear note. One was happy; one was confusing because I finally listened to the lyrics.

The happy one first. I had never heard this before:

How much fun is THIS? Sorry, this is the live version, apparently there’s no video or something. But it’s like this adorable punk-looking British kid and he’s all swing-jivey! I kind of love this.

THEN, right after that, I was flipping around the channels because Bon Iver came on and I don’t allow that garbage in my earholes, and Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi” came on. I’m not putting in the video. I’m sure you’ve all heard this song. If you haven’t, you’re probably just old! Like me! Hi, old-timers like me!

Now listen, I totally enjoy the Gaga. I do. She’s nutty and a total attention hog but I like her music. It’s fun and it makes me want to dance around the house like a looney.

I think they might have done this song on Glee, which is why it sounded familiar to me. I only know a handful of Lady Gaga songs very well and this isn’t one of them. But I was all, oh, hey, I’m in the shittiest of shitty moods! I will listen to this!

I find this whole song very confusing.

I apparently am TOO OLD FOR LADY GAGA. Well, at least too old to pay attention to the lyrics. Maybe I could just nod and hum or something. Because these are confusing lyrics, you guys. Like, half of this is a weirdo acid trip and the other half is a sad-panda emo stalker movie.

OK, so we start with:

We are the crowd, we’re c-comin’ out
Got my flash on, it’s true

(I assume this is about, well, paparazzi. Easy enough. It’s in the title.)

Need that picture of you
It so magical, we’d be so fantastical

(Either the stupid lyric site I’m working with has a typo, or “it so magical” is a lyric. Either way, I hate it. This still seems to be about paparazzi, even though it’s kind of dumb.)

Leather and jeans, garage glamorous
Not sure what it means

(I’m not, either, Gaga. Is “garage glamorous” a thing? Then the guy at my auto body shop is FABULOUS!)

But this photo of us it don’t have a price
Ready for those flashing light

(Ugh, this has to be the lyrics site, right? It has to be “ready for those flashing lights.” Otherwise I’m sending Gaga to remedial grammar school. I can forgive the “don’t” in the line above, it’s a choice, but not the “light.” Also, this is the first sign we have that this is not just about paparazzi but about stalkers.)

Then we have the chorus. It’s totally boppy. I like it a lot.

I’m your biggest fan, I’ll follow you until you love me
Papa, paparazzi

(Um. “I’ll follow you until you love me” is a worrisome thing. Don’t be putting ideas into little kiddos heads, now.)

Baby, there’s no other superstar, you know that I’ll be
Your papa, paparazzi

(Confusing. Who’s the superstar? The paparazzi? Or the celebrity? OOH. Maybe that’s the POINT. Maybe they’re INTERCHANGEABLE. No, wait, probably I’m reading too much into this shit, right?)

Promise I’ll be kind
But I won’t stop until that boy is mine

(Please stop encouraging this behavior. Hey, teens? Please stop if the boy isn’t interested. There’s a fine line between stalking and crushing, ok?)

Baby, you’ll be famous, chase you down until you love me
Papa, paparazzi

(STOP THIS MADNESS GAGA)

Remember we talked about advice songs the other day? Gaga’s giving us advice. Advice about how if you don’t give up, YOU CAN HAVE THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS. That’s not true, by the way. If it was, I’d be married about 47 times right now.

I’ll be your girl backstage at your show
Velvet ropes and guitars
Yeah, cause you’re my rock star in between the sets
Eyeliner and cigarettes

(So…did the stalker GET the guy, or is she like a backstage ho, or what’s happening? Also, I know guys in eyeliner are hotties, but they’re also usually douchebags. Let my experience be your guide, my little lost starshines.)

Shadow is burnt, yellow dance and we turn
My lashes are dry, purple teardrops I cry

(WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING. This is getting totally the most weird. It’s like the poems I used to write when I was in junior high: “My heart is a velvet balloon of sorrow…it expands, it explodes…confetti of your love like rain, doves of sorrow scream…”)

(Please note I never wrote anything like that in high school and my writing, much like my taste, has ALWAYS been EXQUISITE.)

It don’t have a price, loving you is cherry pie

(Whenever I hear “cherry pie” outside of mention of ACTUAL cherry pie I always think of that video with Tawny Kitaen on the roof of the car, you know? I can’t help it. It makes me laugh.)

Then the chorus again, more encouraging little girls to be stalky, etc.

Real good, we dance in the studio
Snap, snap to that shit on the radio

(Now we’re…dancing? In a studio? And cussing and snapping? I don’t know, what happened to the yellow dancing and the purple  tears of sadness?)

Don’t stop for anyone
We’re plastic but we still have fun

(How are these people related to the stalkers, the stalkees, or the backstage hos? It’s like it’s a whole different song right now.)

Then more chorus. Then we’re done.

I liked this song a lot more when I thought it was about paparazzi and not encouraging young girls to go after their dream men and NEVER GIVE UP even if they get a restraining order against you or something.

Also, recently, a lovely young woman of my acquaintance posted the following on Facebook. I think it needs to be addressed.

“I was so afraid, now I realize, love is never wrong, and so it never dies.”

Google tells me this is from The Lion King 2. There was a Lion King 2? Huh. Learn something new and unneeded every day, I suppose.

Love is never wrong, so it never dies.

REALLY.

OK, listen. We all went through our sad little emo phases where we were all “HE/SHE COMPLETES ME” and “THIS IS FOREVER” and such. Is there a way to just shake this out of teenagers? I love this kid to distraction, by the way. She’s one of my jump-in-front-of-a-train-for people. I want to hide her under my bed and give her chocolate and not let anyone hurt her ever again; barring that, I want to find whatever asshat decided it was a good idea to mess with one of MY people, and I want to take a fireplace poker and stuff it up his nostril until it comes out the top of his head. Then I want to hit it with ANOTHER poker so it makes his whole body vibrate like a gong.

But here’s the thing, babe. Love is OFTEN wrong. Can I just tell you HOW wrong? The most. The most wrong. SO EFFING WRONG. And also? It TOTALLY dies. It turns into hate, sometimes; it dies right off so you don’t remember the person’s last name a couple years later, other times. Sometimes, it’s not even love! Sometimes, it’s lust, or infatuation, and it PRETENDS it’s love, but it’s not. It’s just slutty lust dressed in love’s ill-fitting party clothes, or goofy infatuation wearing love’s best shoes.

You’ll learn this, eventually. I promise. But maybe stop watching The Lion King 2. Because it’s obviously not teaching you the right things. Watch the first one, that one was all circle of life-y and shit, that was nice.

Also, I’m hoping she stays the hell away from Gaga. Otherwise, she’s going to start stalking the shit out of love-never-dies boy and that won’t be good times for anyone involved.

ALSO, just quickly, I told Dad about how I was totally going to go to Europe, once the rich people sponsored me? You know, because he was totally going to have to be gentled into this idea. Because my internet people are killers.

His response?

“That’ll be nice. You get so excited about things. You’d have a nice time.”

OK, so either he’s PRETENDING to agree because he does not believe in my rich-person plan (if so, BOO DAD, it’s TOTALLY going to work, you just have to give it TIME) or he really doesn’t care and maybe he believes the internet people are real.

This is all very perplexing.

Also, remember I was all excited about porridge? I told my mom about it and she said, “That’s just Cream of Wheat. You hate Cream of Wheat.”

I don’t know that I’ve ever TRIED Cream of Wheat, MOM, since when do you know all the foods I’ve tried in ever?  But if you put it THAT way it SOUNDS totally unappealing. Porridge sounds EXOTIC and like FAIRY TALE FOOD. Cream of Wheat sounds like what Nana eats when her dentures stop fitting.

To end on a happy note, I found out about the BEST MEME EVER this week. Ready?

SOCIALLY AWKWARD PENGUIN.

You all probably know about this and are all “OLD NEWS AMY GAAAHHH” but it made me laugh so hard I snorted.

OK. Off I go. Planning. Scheming. Hoping. Wishing. Etcetera.

Happy Saturday. Hope your day is free of angstiness! And full of bubblegum!


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