Category Archives: scary

Evacuate all the schoolchildren…

Sometimes you feel really, really lucky.

Today at work, our on-call called in. We have an off-site on-call who checks in with us periodically, just to see if we’re still alive, if all the employees showed up for their shifts, if the place blew up in a random missile attack, etc. Today’s on-call was CAZ. That’s not her real name. We go by initials there. And strangely enough, those aren’t her initials, as she got married a few years ago. But her new last name doesn’t sound as good as saying “CAZ!” does. So those of us who’ve been there a while still call her CAZ. Yes. Yes, that’s a thing that happens at my part-time job. (I don’t go by my initials there, only because my initials don’t sound good if you say them. I’m just Amy. At one point, there were like five Amys but I outlasted them ALL. I would say “I win!” but I’ve been working at this place for eight and a half years so I don’t think that’s a win for anyone, as that means I haven’t had a true weekend for eight and a half years.)

“HELLO CAZ!” I said. And we chatted a little, because I do so like CAZ.

She warned me that one of the apartment complexes we answer for was on fire, so we would probably be getting a lot of calls on that account.

Which one? Oh, not a big deal, just the one where I live, that’s all.


“CAZ, do we know more about this fire? Like, what BUILDING is this fire in?” I said, in a freaked-out tone.

“Why? Oh, so we can tell callers what’s up when they call. GOOD IDEA!”

“No. Um. I live there?”

“Oh. CRAP. Um. Let me ask my husband. He saw it on Facebook. HUSBAND!” she yelled. It is one of CAZ’s more endearing qualities. She’s really loud. She’s an all-capser, if anyone is. “DID FACEBOOK TELL YOU WHAT BUILDING’S ON FIRE? He says no. Sorry!”

So all day at work, I was freaking merrily the hell out. I don’t hang with anyone in my complex so I wasn’t going to call anyone, and at one point we tried calling the front desk because callers were calling us all “NO ONE’S ANSWERING OVER THERE” but no one answered so I couldn’t even ask them what was up. I assume the front desk guy, who’s super-timid (he’s like a Dumbcat of a human) saw the fire and scurried away into his own personal pots-and-pans cupboard.

I kept thinking of Dumbcat. And all my things. I really like my things. And then Dumbcat again, who, the one time we had a fire at my old place, was SO SCARED. And my things. But mostly my Dumbcat. And I did my job, but I kept thinking, “Maybe you have no home to go to? Maybe the ENTIRE PLACE burned down. Maybe you have no more things or cat. Maybe you have your car and what you’re wearing. You have renter’s insurance, sure, but you can’t buy a lifetime’s worth of things. Or Dumbcat. Dumbcat is worth more than ALL the money.”

I drove home kind of crazily. Sorry, other people on the road. You were driving TOO SLOWLY. I wanted to know if I had a home.

I had a home.

(The building that burned, however, wasn’t far from mine. Only a few away. It’s a HUGE complex. Building after building after building.)

It was all over the news. 4 apartments burned. REALLY burned, too, not just a little singed or whatever.


They don’t know how it started, only that it started in the top floor apartment and burned four of the places to a crisp. Like, nothing left. The Red Cross is helping the people without homes. I didn’t see anything when I drove in (the building that burned is past my driveway) but WHOO does it smell like smoke around here.

In news of “everything is an excuse for getting blasted,” my neighbors decided to have a “WE DIDN’T BURN UP!” party, and a gaggle of like ten of them got drunker and drunker in the parking lot. In-between my frantic pettings of Dumbcat (“OMG, my good, good boy, who isn’t dead, how much do I love you? SO MUCH. More than ALL THE THINGS. You are the BEST.” “MOM! This are the BEST PETTINGS!1!!! PURR PURR o no I falled off the cowch from hapinesss”) I peered at them like a creeper. Things got super-loud about three hours after I got home. One of the very classy partygoers decided it was time to BE VERY LOUD and SCREAM OBSCENITIES and BANG ON OTHER PEOPLE’S CARS (I was all, “Don’t you touch my car. Don’t you even. DON’T TOUCH IT” but he didn’t, I don’t think) and then I wandered off because other people’s insanity due to overimbibing got boring to me in the mid 90s but when I heard someone say “GET IN THE CAR DUDE WE GOTTA GO!” I peeked out and he sped off and there was a guy on the ground in a puddle of blood with a girl hovering over him all “You ok, buddy?” and the other partygoers were scurrying around cleaning up detritus because you could hear cop cars coming.


The cops showed up, and then an ambulance, and they took the Victim of the Fire Party away on one of those backboard thingies that you strap people to when they’ve had a spinal injury and then the lady who lives in that place went around apologizing to people for the ruckus and that was the end of that.

I just kept thinking of this:

OMG I am totally laughing so hard I can’t type properly right now sdohgoisgohsdogih.

So: all in all, it all worked out. I have a home. I have a DUMBCAT in the home. (Who doesn’t like the smoky smell; he’s all sniffing near the windows and making his sour-face and running off.) I feel very, very fortunate. (I feel terrible for the people who lost everything, though. Fires scare the bejeebers out of me. When I was little, I used to have panic attacks about our house going up in flames. Dad was all, “WE WOULD BE FINE I WOULD SAVE YOU” but we had to watch some terrible movie about fires in your home and I WAS SO SCARED so I was all, “DAD YOU COULD NOT SAVE ME FROM A WALL OF HUNGRY CHILD-EATING FLAMESSSSSS” and he just shook his head and walked away which I think is what happened with most of my childhood, to be honest.)

Tomorrow I am going on an adventure to meet the most lovely Bronwyn and her EQUALLY-LOVELY fella. I am excited. We will have an adventure of epic proportions! Or just eat dinner and talk and talk, but that can be totally adventurey if you’re meeting someone for the first time you’ve known for years on the interwebs.

Happy Sunday, everyone. May you all have a good thing happen that makes you realize you are very, very lucky to be alive and well and have what you do have in life.

And we always will

sj emailed me yesterday because she knows I can’t check social media while I’m at work. She let me know there’d been two explosions at the Boston Marathon. No real news yet. Reports of possible severed limbs. Chaos.

She knows things like this bother me. She didn’t want me to be blindsided on the drive home, or by one of my coworkers. I love her for that. I love her for being that person for me.

When I got home, I made myself read the reports. Watch the videos. Read my Facebook feed, people who were looking for loved ones in Boston. We’re only two and a half hours from Boston, where I live. I’ve never been, but it’s somewhere I want to visit quite badly. I’ve always wanted to go to Boston. It seems like a magical city to me. And you know how much I love magic.

I noticed what Patton Oswalt did in the videos, in between my sobbing, watching runners falling, tripping over themselves to get away from the noise, the smoke, hearing the screaming start, the faint and horrified “Oh. Oh, oh my God. Oh,” from the newscaster who’d been planning on filming nothing more than the finish line of the marathon for some background footage.

People were running toward the explosion.

People were running toward the explosion even though there could have been more explosions. They didn’t know what had happened. It didn’t matter.

And not running toward the explosion once the screams started, and not running toward the explosion once people started dragging them over, or when people started calling for help. People IMMEDIATELY started running toward the explosion. One man said, in a thick Bawston accent that sounded like the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard in my life, “There are people that are going to need our help over there,” and immediately headed over. He didn’t say it to anyone. There was no one around him. He was saying it to himself. He was telling himself what to do. He was explaining to himself, this is what we do, when we’re needed, because there really isn’t another viable option right now.

And the people, the firemen, the National Guardsmen, the policemen, and the people who were there – runners, bystanders, just everyday people – worked together to pull down the barricades, to make it easier for emergency vehicles and EMTs to get to the wounded. Everyone became a united force. Everyone knew what they had to do. Sadly, it’s become a thing: we have experience with this now. We know what to do when the bomb goes off or the plane crashes or the man with the gun and the dead, dead eyes enters the crowded room. We’ve learned. It’s not something we should have to have learned, but it’s something we collectively have.

The news is still being guarded. By the time you read this, we might know what happened, but for now, people are saying it’s terrorism, and people are saying we don’t know yet. People are saying there’s a subject in custody, people are saying it’s just too soon to say anything. People are saying two more bombs were found before they exploded. People are saying there is video of a man with a backpack leaving the bombs in the area.

People say a lot of things, when these things happen. It’s one of the things that people are good at. We talk because we don’t know what else we can do. We talk because it keeps the gibbering maniacal panic at bay.

But for all of the talking, I like what Patton Oswalt has to say.

There are more of us than there are of them.

There are more of us that run toward the explosions to see what we can do, that hide the children in the cupboards and face the shooter with our hands spread and resolution stubborn in our eyes, that run into the burning building to bring out just one more person, if possible, just one more, just one more.

There are so, so many more of us on this beautiful, amazing, hope-filled planet.

You can see us all around. We’re in the small kindnesses; the letting of people into traffic, the kind smile of a stranger, the holding of a door, the compliment when needed but unanticipated; the bigger ones, the offer to listen, the helping each other up, the thank you for being in my life, the telling someone you love them, no matter what, for always, for forever. The small kindnesses, the bigger ones, the huge heroism. To some people, they are all the same thing. You never know if your kindness, if your hand reaching out for theirs, is the thing that saved someone’s life.

There is a lot of darkness and a lot of sadness out there right now. It’s warranted. It’s a scary time. Every day, something else. Every day, something that seems like one more step on that descent into madness.

When it gets too much, though, look at all the heroes. They’re all around you. They are infinity times infinity and they stretch on forever.

And make damn sure you’re one of them.

I hope I get it (ETA: I TOTALLY GOT IT, YO)

So today’s a very very scary day. (Well, not TODAY. I wrote this earlier in the week. Today’s just fine, you guys.) I’m starting to write this on my way out the door; by the time I get home, I should have the rest of the story so I can finish it. How the story ends? No idea. I have the highest hopes, but it could go either way at this point.

So my part-time job, about a month or so ago (maybe even two months?) offered me full-time hours doing more administrative work and less phone-answering. There would be benefits and a pay raise, and as much overtime as I wanted. That’s better than what I’m doing now, so I told them yes. We haven’t sat down and hashed out the details yet, but that’s on the table.

At the same time, I interviewed for, and was offered, another job at another call center. It paid a little more, but the drawbacks were kind of high. Far away from home, weird late-night hours and that would be my regular shift, and the bathroom break situation. What, Amy? I can hear you now. What bathroom break situation? Well, you got a lunch break; you could go to the bathroom then. And, per the interviewer, “if you REALLY can’t hold it until the end of your shift, we can give you another break at some point in the day. SIGH.” I looked at the other people I’d walked by on my way into the job; they were warning me away with their eyes. DO NOT ACCEPT A JOB AT THE PLACE THAT WON’T ALLOW YOU TO PEE WHEN YOU NEED TO, AMY, they were saying. (I’m not saying I need to pee a lot. I’m actually like a camel in that regard. But I don’t like being told I CAN’T. I’m very stubborn that way, and so is my bladder. If I was told I couldn’t, I just know my bladder would be all, “WE HAVE TO GO NOW!” out of spite like every five minutes.)

So when they called to offer me that job, I white-lied and made up a reason I couldn’t take it. I felt a little bad, but it seemed better than saying “Um. I’d need to be able to pee whenever I wanted to. Sorry, ya’ll.” Also, I’d be working through my evening television for the rest of ever, and with weird backward hours like that I’d always feel turned on my head. And my career would be answering phones. I don’t mind it in the short-term, but in the long-term I don’t think I could do that.

Boy, these people are smiley. We aren’t…um…this smiley. Often. Sorry to disappoint.

When I first…um…parted ways with my job, back in July, friend A. said, “I’ll keep an eye out at my company; we’re always hiring.” A lot of people said the same thing, so I didn’t think he meant anything by it other than “I’m being nice, poor Amy.” (Friend A. IS very nice. Also very sarcastic and funny. I like Friend A. very much.) But last month, he emailed me all “My company’s hiring. Quick, send in a resume and cover letter. And, heads up, one of the positions is in my department.”

Friend A.’s department is three people: him and two other theater people I’ve worked on shows with before. I know the whole department. They’re ALL THEATER PEOPLE. It’s not an arts organization, which is what’s funny – I won’t go into much detail, but it’s a financial institution of some sort, that’s all you get – but I know them. All three of them.

(SIDE NOTE: I’m not blogging about this job. I mean, maybe slightly in the abstract, but that’s IT. I’ve learned my lesson, my little cheese curds.)

Oh, well, damn, now I want cheese curds.

So I sent in the resume and the cover letter. I didn’t think I had the qualifications needed to work in Friend A.’s department (boo) but there was a clerical job open in another department, so I applied for that one. I didn’t hear anything so I thought, eh, I send in a lot of resumes, whatever.

Then I got a call from HR to come in and interview for it. MOST EXCITING CALL EVER. And not only to interview there, but for the job in Friend A.’s department. It never hurts to know people, apparently. (I have NEVER been a person who knows people. THIS IS EXCITING.)


So right before Hurricane Sandy, end of last month, I went in and interviewed for the position. I met with HR and Friend N. and the interview went (I thought) pretty well. I was nervous as a cat but I tried to be very very well-behaved and calm and I kind of sat on my hands as I do when I’m nervous, otherwise they flap like I’m a crazyperson.

Then I didn’t hear anything else for weeks so I was all, well, I’m out. (I’m a little but of a defeatist, as you can tell. Also, I’ve been job-hunting for 4 months so I’m not optimistic. And I’ve been working crazy hours at work so I don’t have time to be merry sunshine.)

Friend A. reassured me they work slowly over there and he thought all was still going well but I don’t count chickens.

THEN, last week, I got a call to come in and meet with Friend N.’s boss, who is even MORE fancy. WHOA. That was a good sign! And made me even MORE nervous. So I went in last week and did that. He was nice, but also very very serious. Again, I think it went well. I said a couple of things I wished I could take back but only a couple is actually pretty good for the girl who lives with her foot in her mouth.

Me, only much less cute-like.

He told me it’d be one to two weeks before a decision was made. So, more waiting.

Yesterday at work, I went out on break and had a call to call HR; they’d like to discuss the position with me. I called immediately but by the time I’d gotten the message, it was very late in the day so she’d probably already gone home. I left her a message to call me at work today. IT HAD ONLY BEEN FIVE DAYS. That’s substantially less than one to two weeks.

So, that’s where we stand.

Mom thinks she’s calling to tell me I didn’t get it. “We do that all the TIME at work,” she said. “We call people to tell them sorry, no thanks. That’s what places do.”

“WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT, MOM?” I said. “You are the worst. You’re supposed to say ‘oh, that’s GOOD news!”

“Sorry, just being honest,” she said.

My mom is not the cheeriest. If she were a cheerleader she’d be all “rah rah sis boom bah don’t break your phalanges” and the team would be too depressed to leave the bench.

Dad was all “I WILL LIGHT A CANDLE I WILL LIGHT ALL THE CANDLES!!!” Dad’s not optimistic, either, not about anything, but he, like me, is SECRETLY optimistic. He hides it like I do. We’ll pretend we’re all “nah, it’ll never happen” but in our hearts we’re all “MINE MINE MINE!!!!” Then when it doesn’t happen we’re crushed like discarded red plastic cups but we soldier on.

I think this is probably good. I mean, wouldn’t they send a letter if it was bad news? Or wouldn’t they have just left a message saying “Thank you for interviewing, we’ve decided to go in another direction” in order not to get my hopes up?

I’m not counting chickens. I AM NOT COUNTING CHICKENS.

The job pays more than anything I’ve ever done. It’s close to home; it’s in a beautiful building; I know (and like) the department; the benefits are amazing; they treat their employees well; the hours are great; they appreciate personality and – AND – they allow you to be a HUMAN. No more having to be a drone. Oh, how much would I like that? I’ve gotten really used to being able to laugh at my current job. I’m not saying I’m going to be all “HA HA HA!” all day at my new job if I get it…but having the OPTION to laugh, and not be SCOLDED in a CONFERENCE ROOM for it (thanks, old job) is a nice thought, right?

I’m gonna need you to stop laughing at work, mmm-kay?

It’s what I need. I could get back on track. I could have time to both read AND blog AND talk to my people AND do my theater and my reviewing AND make a living. I’d get vacation time – and have a little extra money to maybe DO something on vacation.

I want this. I want this so badly I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about it.

It might just be a courtesy “you didn’t get it, sorry” call, and if it is, I’m going to edit the hell out of this before I post it, or maybe not post it at all, because it’ll be like you can see my heart break all over the page and who wants to see that…but oh. Oh, I want it. I want it so, so badly. I want to work with Friend A. daily and I want to be happy at work and I want to do a good job for them and I want to do something other than answering phones all day long and I want to feel like I matter again.

Off to work. This is a big one. Everything I have is crossed and crossed again.


I got the job.


I start in a week and a half. HR called me at work this morning. She didn’t even beat around the bush. “Hi, Amy, we’re calling to offer you…” and I was all “OMG THANK YOU!!!” like a huge goofy dork. But she just laughed. I think I won them over. I also said, “My mom was SURE you were calling to tell me ‘thanks but no thanks'” and she was HORRIFIED. “We don’t do that!” she said. “We send LETTERS for that! WHO WOULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT?” Hee!

I was thinking and thinking and worrying ALL NIGHT AND ALL MORNING about this. I was like, “Amy. Stop WORRYING. The decision’s been made. It’s like you’re worrying about Schrödinger’s cat. That cat has already died or is alive and you worrying is not going to make it MORE dead or MORE alive. STOP WORRYING ABOUT THE CAT IN THE BOX.”

Then I realized that my whole life, I’ve pretty much spent it worrying about the cat that is already either alive or dead in the box, and that made me SO SAD.

This was kind of irrelevant to the story. ANYWAY.

I’m so excited I can’t even.


Listen, I know I mentioned it yesterday? But please let me reiterate: no longer working at my last job is the best thing that’s happened to me this year. Was it scary? Sure it was. SO scary. But sometimes you need something scary to kick you in the ass and get you into something better.

I am so, so excited about this opportunity. And guess what? YOU ARE ALL COMING WITH ME.

(Although we’re not talking about my job, really. ONLY IN THE ABSTRACT. I’m not losing this one, kiddos. I want to work here a good long time.)

Listen, let me extend yesterday’s squishy a little longer: thank you so much for sticking with me over the last four months. I know. They haven’t always been the most cheerful. But you’ve made them bearable. And thank you so much for that. I love you to bits.

Onward and upward, my most beloved minions. A week and a half more full-time at the part-time job, then it’s onto the next adventure.

I’m going to bon vivant the HELL out of this.

Oh, hey, look at all these chickens! One. Two. Three. Four. I WILL COUNT THESE CHICKENS SO HARD.

VOTER FRAUD! (Perhaps a slight exaggeration.)

Oh, the election? What’s that? What election?

Do I have a STORY about the election? Well, I do have a story about that. Sure I do. Since when do I not have a story about something?

I woke up early on Tuesday to vote. REALLY early. I already get up early this week and I got up earlier than early. I wanted to vote before work because after work I had to go to auditions. So I got up early, and I went on over to the polling place. Which is one of our local elementary schools. And I went in, and I went to my little table (and saw handsome friend R., who gave me a delicious hug and he always smells SO GOOD and we both agreed we were voting for the right person and he was all “we will celebrate tonight!” and I said, “Oh, R., I hope so, I so hope so”) and then I got my sheet (I was number 62, and I’m pretty sure that’s a very good number) and I went to my little cubby which was all tippy and cheap and one of the legs wasn’t long enough and I scribbled in my bubbles and I double and triple-checked that I filled in ALL the bubbles and then I went on over to the Scantron machine.

Pretty prestigious, right?

The woman in front of my was VERY BUSY and in a hurry. So she just popped her sheet in the machine and walked off all busy tappy feet. And after she left and before the lady waved me up to the machine, the busy lady’s ballot popped on out of the Scantron machine with a very annoying beeping noise.

The polling place lady was all “URGHHHHH” and went over and jammed it back into the machine. It popped out and beeped. Tried again. Popped out and beeped. Over and over. She was NOT amused. The line of people ready to scan their trons was getting pretty long.

Finally, she was all, “Ugh, THIS isn’t going to work. YOUR TURN,” to me, and walked away from the machine with the woman’s ballot.

Stupid ballot. Who cares about this ballot? NO ONE CARES.

“Um…that’s…that woman’s ballot isn’t going to work?” I said.

“Nope. Go,” she said.

“What…happens to her ballot?” I said.

She just rolled her eyes and waved in an annoyed fashion at the machine. I WAS HOLDING UP THE LINE.

So, with this undecided ballot-thing hanging over my head, I walked up to the faulty Scantron machine and put in my ballot.

“YOU’RE DONE NOW, BYE,” she said.

Now, I knew I wasn’t done. The machine, once it accepts your ballot, gives you a cheery “Your ballot has been counted, thank you” message. First, she was still standing there holding that woman’s PRESIDENTIAL EFFING BALLOT in her hand. Not even in its privacy folder. (Doesn’t “privacy folder” sound fancy? It’s a legal-sized manila folder, there’s nothing fancy about it.) Just hanging all out. Anyone could have seen that woman’s vote. AND SHE DIDN’T EVEN SEEM TO CARE. Then, THEN, she was trying to HURRY me, so MY ballot wasn’t going to count.

(I know this isn’t voter fraud, but there has to be some sort of name for what this is. Pollworker malaise? I don’t know. Whatever it is, IT IS WRONG AND I AM FURIOUS.)

Well, I think you can guess how well I took her pushing me around, right?

I never outgrew this stage of development. Sorry, childhood.

“I am not done,” I said.

“You’re done,” she said. She walked over, that woman’s ballot flapping in her hand.

At that moment, the machine came up with its “Your vote has been counted, thank you!” message. I looked at it. I looked at her in triumph.

“NOW I’m done,” I said, and I strolled out of the school.


Oh, wait, I’m not even done. I have more.

So, I was petrified on Tuesday. All day long. So, so scared. Of course I was. I know. I KNOW. People have good points, like “what really changes, once we get a new president?” and “both candidates were…well, pretty shitty, objectively” and one of my coworkers was all, “Amy. WE WORK AT AN ANSWERING SERVICE. How is who the president is going to affect us? Seriously? We’re the poor people that presidents hate, you know?” and he’s kind of right. But also, Romney and Ryan hated my uterus. And my gay friends. And I didn’t want to live in a country run by them. So, I was petrified. For all of his faults, Obama likes the ladies. And he’s got no beef with the gays.

Well, shit, if I had seen this, I wouldn’t have freaked out!

So before I went to bed (way too late, auditions went way overtime, but we cast the show, and MAN do I wish you all lived closer, our Laramie Project is going to be AMAZING, one audition piece made me CRY, and that was just the AUDITION) I emailed three of my nearest and dearest who I knew were going to be awake until the bitter end, because I couldn’t stay up any more. I had to get up at 5:30am, and staying up until who-knows-how-long to see who won was a very bad idea for me, sleeping-wise, considering I’d had very little sleep the night before. So I said, “dear people I love, you will be awake. I need to go to bed. I can’t handle going on Facebook or Twitter tomorrow morning until I know who wins. So please, if you love me, email me once you know who wins. If it’s the right person, just say, ‘you’re ok, Amy, all’s well, you can go on the internet again.’ And if not, please break the news kindly. I think I can take it if it comes from you. Love love love.”

(I didn’t say it this succinctly. I did it more rambly-like. They still love me. Hence the “nearest and dearest” monikers.)

Then I went to sleep. But I didn’t really go to sleep, because I tossed and I turned and the cat kept bothering me and I couldn’t sleep because of the MARES of NIGHT and I kept waking up and I should have just checked the damn phone but I was afraid if the results hadn’t come in I’d be in a worse situation, or what if the wrong person won? So I didn’t. Just kept tossing and turning. All night long.

Then I crawled out of bed when the alarm went off and looked at the phone all balefully. I was afraid to check it. So I started to get ready for work. WITHOUT CHECKING THE PHONE. I never start my day without checking the phone. It’s the first thing I do every morning. I was too scared.

So I got all ready for work.

Still too scared.

Then I made fed Dumbcat, who was blissfully ignorant of what was happening and just dorby-dorbing around.

Still too scared.

Then I finally sat on the couch and said, you check the phone, you dummy.

All the email.

Three of them I couldn’t see what they were about. One started with “Don’t worry, Amy” so that could have gone either way. One just had the subject line of “Okay” so again, could have gone either way. One said “YAY!” but MAYBE THAT WAS A TRICK. My people are sarcastic (and I love ’em for it), so who knows? (My phone only gives you a very brief preview of what’s happening in the email.)

And one said something I’m not going to say because, well, it’s my personal email and therefore NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, but it made it VERY CLEAR, based on the person who’d sent it, that I was going to be ok.

And I whooped.

Then I wept.

And I scared the cat.

And I wept some more.

And I read my email, every last bit of it, and all my tweets, while sniveling.

I love you guys. Thank you.

Listen, it wasn’t much of a victory. 2 million popular votes as of 2:30pm Wednesday. That’s better than the results I first heard – 50,000 popular votes. But still. 2 million. That’s not a huge margin. There are a lot of people out there who are not happy with who won. My dad’s one of them. He and I can’t even discuss this. He’s so upset, and I don’t rub salt in the wound, you know? (He would have, were the tables turned, but that’s neither here nor there. We’re different people.)

Do I think the best person won? Yes. But think about this – who the hell would WANT the position? Mom and I were talking about this tonight. It’s a TERRIBLE job. People HATE you. People want to KILL you. You age insane amounts, you have so much pressure on you, no one likes anything you do, you have to deal with so much shit all the time – what a horrible job. You couldn’t pay me enough money, seriously.

Anyway. Four more years until I have to go through this again. I don’t think my heart can take it.

Clinton/Gillibrand 2016, anyone?


The time I almost got killed but not really killed at all.

I wrote myself an email called “these are funny things to remember to talk about” and now they don’t seem as funny as they did when I was half-asleep this morning. Huh. Imagine that, something seeming funnier when I’m all sleep-fuzzy. Can’t even fathom.

OK, so the first story is called THE TIME I ALMOST GOT MAULED TO DEATH LAST NIGHT.

So last night I had to work until 11, and then I had to get up super-early to get to work this morning. No, ok, not THAT early, but early enough. Especially since I was at work until 11, then got home and I TOTALLY MEANT to go right to bed but the internet beckoned, and MAN is the internet beckony. Like a mistress. Or in my case a mister, I suppose. Anyway, so I was sleepy when I got home. I parked the car in the secret back lot no one ever uses because the front lot was all full. It’s totally dark and creepytown back there and it’s where the killers live, I’m pretty sure, but luckily I live in a pretty safe place so there aren’t a lot of killers. THAT I KNOW OF. But if there WERE killers, they would TOTALLY make that back lot their home.

No, this isn’t a picture of my actual lot. How the hell would I take a picture in the dark, my phone doesn’t have a flash on it.

So I did some phone-stuff in the car before I got out, and then I opened my car door and then I was getting all my things together like my purse and my phone and my work bag and my lunch bag (I’m like a beast of burden with all of these things, seriously) and so I was all “la la la GETTING MA SHIT TOGETHER” when a very cold THING bashed up against my arm and went “MRPH!” and then I screamed right out loud.

So I jumped three feet in the air (well, that’s kind of an exaggeration, I was in the car, so I just kind of bumped out of my seat a little) and looked over all “well, this is where I get killed” and it was A VERY HAPPY RED DOG.

It kind of looked like this. But redder. And also more awesome.

Now, I was ABOUT to say “the happiest red dog you have ever seen,” but then I thought, that’s a total lie. Because there are two dogs that fit that criteria, and therefore, this dog CANNOT be the happiest red dog you have ever seen, because the happiest red dogs you have ever seen belong to Ken.

Seriously. SERIOUSLY. Happiest red dogs ever. (I stole this from Ken, because one time, he gave me like a free pass to steal from him? I’ve been taking advantage of it ever since. THANK YOU KEN. It’s probably a good thing I don’t live in your Germany. I’d be coming over all the time all “give me a bag of sugar and all your CDs WHAT YOU SAID I COULD STEAL.”)

So, although this dog was SINCERELY HAPPY and SINCERELY RED, it was not the HAPPIEST red dog ever, because, well, just look up. Because that title is TAKEN.

So in about 3 seconds I went from “ZOMG A MONSTER IS ATTACKING ME GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD” to “ZOMG! LOOK AT THE PUPPY!!!” and the dog was wagging his happy tail ALL OVER THE LAND and smiling a doggy-smile and I LOVED HIM SO MUCH.

So I said, “Hello happy red dog! What are you doing all alone here in the middle of the night?” and he sat down and smiled up at me and I made up this WHOLE LIFE IN MY HEAD where I ran off with this happy red dog and adopted him and we had the best time ever, and then a man said, “Come here, Dexter” and happy red dog gave me a look like, “Oh, well, see ya” and bounded off and a scruffy college-looking kid took off with MY NEW DOG. Sigh.

So I COULD HAVE BEEN EATEN BY A SASQUATCH but mostly I met a new friend and his name seems to be Dexter which is a television-serial-killer name so I don’t think that’s appropriate. What do I think is more appropriate? I can’t tell you that. I don’t name animals arbitrarily. I take weeks. I make lists, and then I ask the animal what they think. Right now, you think I am being sarcastic. I am not. Why wouldn’t you involve your animal in its name? That’s ridiculous. Dumbcat’s really real name is a VERY good name, and when I said, “So I think I’m going to name you THE NAME I CANNOT SAY ON THE INTERNET BECAUSE YOU ARE IN WITNESS PROTECTION SO I CALL YOU DUMBCAT,” he blinked wisely and headbutted me, and he didn’t do that with any of the other names that I said to him. So that was his name. IS his name. REMAINS his name. It’s the name I call him when we’re home alone. (Along with things like Tater, and many other things, because he is a cat of a billion names.) Also, when I named my other cat, I read her a very long list of names, and when I got to her name, she MEOWED. She totally picked her own name. I think we should take things more seriously like naming. Especially when it comes to animals, who are superior to humans in almost every way.

Oh, this is getting kind of long and I didn’t even tell you the other things that were on my list of things to talk about that weren’t even all that funny. I really liked that red dog. I want a dog. Why don’t I have a dog yet? Oh, because I don’t have time for a dog and that would be unfair to a pet. That’s right. I’m a responsible human, I forgot. I don’t want a little red dog, anyway. I want a pit bull. Because when I worked at the shelter they won me over and are my favorite breed. (I will always love beagles, but I want to own a pit.)

My most beloved pit in the world looked just like this, and looking at this makes me have tears. I miss him so much.

OK, let’s see. Well, in news of “I have the sense of humor of a child,” the fire station next to me is having this fundraising dinner and they were putting up a sign and they were only halfway done putting up the sign so there was this guy putting up the letters and all it said outside the fire station was “PORK” all big. Hee! PORK. So that made me laugh, thinking of what they might be doing inside that fire station. Porking, I guess. Later when I drove by they’d finished the sign so it said “Pork Dinner” and had all the details so it wasn’t funny at all anymore.

Someone trademarked this, so don’t you go stealing Pork 101. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!!!

Hee. Pork. Pork at the fire station.

Oh, and and AND, there was a man standing at the bus station talking to himself SO VIOLENTLY and that made me super-sad. But he also seemed to really be enjoying the conversation? Like, he was using his HANDS and he was being all VIBRANT and he had VERY WIDE EYES so I thought, “that can’t be that bad, he seems to be having a good time” and then I thought, “oh, shit, using his hands, wide eyes, I TALK TO MYSELF ALL THE TIME, this is my future THIS IS MY FUTURE” and then I was the saddest all over again. But probably I won’t be a guy who looks like Santa Claus at the bus stop on Central Avenue.  At least I don’t THINK I will. I guess anything could happen, it’s a weird world. One never knows.

There. Those are the things I wanted to tell you in the middle of the night on a Thursday which in your world is a Sunday because I am trying to be proactive before I go to bed and get up early for another day of work tomorrow SIGH SIGH SIGH.

Also, I want a happy dog. I so want a happy dog. Dumbcat says to tell you, “No dogz becuase they maek me skeered and also HIED!” but I think he’d get used to it. Eventually. He’ll have to, I mean, once I get a DOG. Also another cat. And some fish. And a frog. And then I have a whole menagerie up in here and all will be well in Amy-land.

HAPPY SUNDAY! Oh, today, I am doing that fancy theater thing? Where I am fancy and talk in front of people with my whole mouth? And I am, probably as you read this, TERRIFIED AS ALL HELL. Gulp. Send good thoughts. ALL the good thoughts. I’m probably hiding in the pots and pans cupboard at the moment, so think them hard, they have to make it through the wood paneling and such.

Heh. Wood.

Heh. Pork.



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