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Category Archives: winter

Let it snow. Just not THIS much. I know, I’m really picky.

Just a quick update. I am not dead; I am still coughing up a lung and my nose is running, like, a LOT, but otherwise? I think I might be on the mend. Maybe. Seems everyone’s got some sort of crud right now; I’m not alone in my sick nasty suffering.

I learned a very smart thing in that I could not sleep for days, and one night I totally ragequit my bed and decided to sleep on my couch and it worked like a CHARM and I couldn’t figure out why, until I figured out that I was weirdly propped up on a bunch of pillows and maybe THAT had helped with all the coughing, so I put a billion photos on my bed and the next night I slept MUCH better. So apparently the tuberculosis or whatever I’ve come down with likes me to sleep at a weird upright angle. I WIN, TUBERCULOSIS OR WHATEVER YOU ARE!

Also, if you live in New York or the northeast area, you may or may not have woken up to THIS on Sunday morning:

HOLY COW!

We totally got a foot of snow over a 24-hour period. I was at work on Saturday and the drive home from work was NO BUENO. But that was only a few inches of snow; when I woke up the next morning, we’d gotten probably 9 MORE inches. And I had to dig out from it. Which took about an hour. A sweaty, terrible hour, in which I wondered how I had been sent to a Soviet work camp. But I got my poor car unburied and moved it to an empty spot that had been cleared and then went back in and collapsed on the couch and went pant, pant, pant while my jeans dripped melty snow on the floor.

Ha! Yes. Shoveling snow ALWAYS looks this dapper!

Ha! Yes. Shoveling snow ALWAYS looks this dapper!

I love you, New York! I don’t want to leave you! But oh, that was a lot of snow! And I am not much of one for manual labor, hence me working in a cushy office job!

(I did giggle a little watching people get stuck. The problem is that people didn’t think they had to shovel MUCH snow to get their car out of the spots. The main areas had been plowed, but you had to clean out, like, behind your tires and such. Or your tires would spin and spin. And people were being lazy, and thought, “I will just clean away a LITTLE snow!” and then they totally got stuck and were all “WHIRRRR!” and stuck. It was their own damn fault. I wouldn’t have laughed otherwise, promise. I was the MOST anal about shoveling all the snow away from my car, because once I got stuck and it was the worst, and who’s going to help me get out, Dumbcat? I think not.)

Christmas is almost done; I am currently waiting on ONE GIFT and I can mail everything out and will be FINISHED. (Hurry up, one gift!) Some people have gotten their gifts already and I had many grins getting messages from people who’ve received things this weekend. I have a pile of gifts for Mom and Dad and the extended family that I will give to Mom and Dad when they visit next week, and they will give ME gifts, and I will save them to open on Christmas day so I don’t feel so bad about being that sad lonely person on Christmas. AND, The Nephew’s mom invited me to her house for Christmas brunch, so I get to give him his gifts in person, and see him on Christmas day! That was a happy unexpected surprise. I love that I get to spend a few hours with family on Christmas day that I wasn’t expecting. That makes me so joyous.

Shh, don't tell him, but I bought him a remote-control plane. He's going to flip.

Shh, don’t tell him, but I bought him a remote-control plane. He’s going to flip.

I am so pleased with Christmas this year. I’m so happy I was able to get it all together and make Christmas happen after the nightmare that was last year’s non-Christmas. And Christmas is only ten days away! Huzzah!

(And shh, I totally bought MYSELF some gifts; I think that’s allowed. Some new clothes, and shoes, and some various accessories. Sometimes you need to treat yourself just a LITTLE. Plus I needed some new clothes. Don’t we all? Sometimes?)

Also, aren't these the CUTEST, and they were 50% off! I HAD TO HAVE THEM!

Also, aren’t these the CUTEST, and they were 50% off! I HAD TO HAVE THEM!

I know I keep telling you more posts are coming, and they really are, I promise; they’re being worked on in draft form as we speak. There has been some posting going on on my review blog, if you’re so inclined. I haven’t disappeared. I’ve just got a million irons in the fire right now, I guess. Oh, and maybe also tuberculosis.

Hope your Decembers are all going well and you’re staying warm and dry and such. I’ll be back soon. You won’t even notice I’m gone. Promise!

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Science myths with Amy’s Dad. Also, my car hates me.

It’s cold. VERY COLD. Some of you people might live in places where it is not as cold. And that’s nice for you! So nice. Here, it is currently 10 degrees. TEN. When I was driving to work this morning? It was -2. NEGATIVE TWO.

(I like to email Andreas when it’s this cold and say, “In YOUR temperature that is -19 NEGATIVE NINETEEN ANDREAS!!!!” And he doesn’t even complain, not even a little.)

This is what my car apparently thinks when it is this cold:

LEAVE ME ALONE WOMAN!!!!

LEAVE ME ALONE WOMAN!!!!

“Nope. I’m not into this. Not at all. It’s too cold. TOO COLD. Let’s just hang out here in the parking lot, what do you say? Just, like, here? In the lot. No? Oh, you’re actually going to try to start me? Oh, well, that’s ill-advised, but, well, you do your thing, I guess. I’ll just…stall out. Yep. See, I tried to warn you it’s just too damn cold for this. You’re trying AGAIN? Well, aren’t you optimistic, like a young girl or a unicorn or something. OK, let’s do this. I GUESS I can stay running. But not without a cost. And that cost is that I’m going to scare you by randomly lighting up some of your warning lights. You’ll never know which ones when you start the car. Today, let’s do…um…the airbag, the emergency brake, and the gas cap warning lights. That seems like fun! Oh, yes, well, if you turn me off and on a few times, I’ll flash DIFFERENT lights on and off…and it’s like a slot machine, because at some point, I’ll turn on with NO WARNING LIGHTS ON! And then you WIN! But mostly, the house wins. And I’m the house, baby. Oh, also, I’m going to chug a lot, and when you hit the brakes, I’m going to buck like a pony that just got stung by a bee. YOU’RE WELCOME!”

Also, the other day when it was super-cold? I had no signal lights. Nope. They just didn’t work. None. FROZEN SIGNAL LIGHTS. Just TOO DAMN COLD. You’d think I lived in the Arctic or something but I don’t see any penguins so I don’t even get the cool perks of the Arctic. Wait, is it the Arctic where there are penguins? I’m really tired and probably I could Google it, but, TIRED. Also, I put a billion blankets on my bed recently and it’s SO WARM there, you guys, like, it’s CALLING to me. In a happy little voice. “AMY. Come SLEEP HERE. You will be SO WARM. It’s like SLEEPING in a CLOUD. A WARM CLOUD.”

I have one of these super-comfy feather comforters for when it's really cold. It is the BEST, you guys.

I have one of these super-comfy feather comforters for when it’s really cold. It is the BEST, you guys.

Fine, I Googled it, penguins do NOT live in the Arctic, they live in the Antarctic. Is this like how I couldn’t tell the difference between stalagmites and stalactites for like a billion years until someone taught me a trick? (YES, I’ll share it with you. Stalagmites come out of the ground. There is a “g” in stalagmites. “G” for “ground.” Stalactites come out of the ceiling. There’s a “c” in stalactites. “C” for “ceiling.” I have a lot of these tricks. They’re how I remember most things in life.)

Ooh! Aah!

Ooh! Aah!

I have to go make muffins in a minute. That’s not even a euphemism. We’re having another snack day at work tomorrow. So I’m making muffins tonight. That, until about five seconds ago, I totally forgot about. So, shit, I’d better get to making those muffins now, right? Anyone want to come over and make muffins or anything? I’m totally all warm on the couch and the cat’s all snuggled up to my leg. Sigh. SIGH I SAID SIGH.

They're blueberry muffins. From a mix. I kind of gave up today, don't tell anyone.

They’re blueberry muffins. From a mix. I kind of gave up today, don’t tell anyone.

I asked Andreas today if this was the ice age and no one told me and he was all “Um, *I* told you, unless you haven’t been reading my blog” and, yes. Yes, he did. Look, per Andreas, “We are currently experiencing a temporary thaw (or interglacial period) in the ongoing Pleistocene ice age. So, the current ice age hasn’t ended yet, it’s just on hold for an unknown number of thousand years.” We’re apparently in an ongoing ice age. Well, THAT’S depressing. Who likes THAT? No one, is who. Dammit. I told Andreas if this is the ice age I’m going to need to buy some earmuffs or something.

Is this going to be in my backyard soon, Andreas?

Is this going to be in my backyard soon, Andreas?

Then I told Dad Andreas said it was the ice age and Dad said, “No, it’s GLOBAL WARMING, that’s what that guy who invented the internet said.” And I said, “I think it can be both, Dad.” And then Dad said, “Did you know over 1,000 scientists said there is no global warming?”

Sometimes I try very hard not to laugh when Dad says things, because I love him. But sometimes he says things that are straight from Fox News and I can’t help myself.

“And probably over 10,000 scientists say there IS global warming,” I replied. Dad didn’t like that.

“Those scientists that are lying about global warming, do you know where they got their degrees?” he asked. I didn’t know how to answer this. “UNIVERSITIES!” he said, triumphantly.

I still didn’t know how to answer this.

“Um. So…the 1,000 other scientists have a degree from…the school…of hard knocks? Then? I am confused by this,” I said. “I would think that MOST scientists get their degrees from universities. That’s where degrees are usually bestowed upon people,” I said.

I don't know if I want my scientists being all sciency up in here if this is the degree they have, Dad.

I don’t know if I want my scientists being all sciency up in here if this is the degree they have, Dad.

“The UNIVERSITIES are run by the GOVERNMENT and the GOVERNMENT wants you to THINK there is global warming so they can give guns to other countries so they can kill us,” Dad said.

I’m not going to go into detail, mostly because it was a HUGE BALL OF CRAZY, but apparently Fox News told my dad today that the government was going to take millions of dollars to “change the weather” (“Ha ha, Amy, YOUR PRESIDENT thinks if he THROWS MONEY AT THE WEATHER it will CHANGE!” Dad said, and I replied with, “I don’t think they’ll be hucking dollar bills into the wind, Dad”) but really they were going to secretly give to other countries so they could arm their militias and then take over Merka. I don’t even…huh.

“Do you think maybe that money is so they can have scientists look for ways to help us SOLVE global warming?” I asked Dad.

He laughed and laughed. “Oh, Amy. I love you, but that’s what wrong with you people. Listen to me: THERE IS NO GLOBAL WARMING.”

(Just so you know, in case you were confused, “you people” means “liberals.” “Liberals” also means “idiots” or “braindead morons” or “sheep.” I like to remind Dad that “liberal” also means “his beloved daughter” but he doesn’t like to think about that.)

At that point, I just changed the subject to something else. But not the weather, because apparently that’s now a taboo subject. Pretty soon we’re only going to be able to talk about…um…I don’t even know. How much the people in line at the Walmart annoyed him today? Where to buy the cheapest old-people vitamins? I. Do. Not. Know. What. Topics. Are. Safe. Maybe Fox News should let me know what they’re going to lie about daily so I know what to avoid?

Alright. I have to make some non-euphemistic muffins, yo. Then I’m going to bed. In my warm cloud of blankets. Aaah.

Stay warm, my little blueberries. Also, keep your pets indoors. Dumbcat said I had to include that part, and I can’t argue with him. He’s too adorably furry.


True tales of temperature fluctuations. With perhaps some exaggeration. FOR ADDED OOMPH.

It’s still kind of too hot. Here is a story called “I fail at too hot”:

So the other night I was so, so hot. SO HOT. So I took a shower with almost all cold water, which I know, you think is probably a really bad idea and sounds terrible, but I take cold showers almost all summer long. I don’t really like hot showers unless it’s very very very cold or if I have the flu. So I kept turning down the hot until it was almost ALL COLD and it was really kind of frigid but I WAS SO SO HOT.

Bring it on, cold shower! BRING IT ON!

Dad yells at me about cold showers all the time. Sometimes he tells me they’re going to kill me and sometimes he tells me they’re just going to make me hotter when I get out. Don’t care. They feel SO GOOD when I’m in them. A cold shower when it’s hot out is an underrated pleasure. Or maybe I’m just a masochist, who knows. Then when I was done I was like YES BAM I AM COOLED OFF NOW. Only the apartment was still so so hot so the minute I got out I was immediately all hot again. So apparently Dad was right, dammit. Yes, I know. I could have put the air conditioning back on. I AM STUBBORN AND REFUSED.

LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU!

(Side note! One time I was so stubborn I almost died. TRUE TALES OF STUBBORNNESS! So a few years ago, we had a huge ice storm. All the power went out all over the place. My apartment lost power. It was…I want to say January? Maybe February? In upstate New York? And we were in the middle of a deep freeze. Temperatures below freezing.

The only good thing about ice storms is that they’re pretty. Otherwise, they are devil-sent. Slippery! Power-killing! Evil!

The only thing that worked in our apartment – this was when I still lived with the lovely C. – was the oven and the water. We still had hot water because that was gas powered, as was the stove. So the apartment got colder and colder and colder. We couldn’t use heaters, because, well, no power. And you don’t use a gas heater in an apartment. Well, not without dying of asphyxiation. Or burning the place down like Lisa Left-Eye Lopes. The power went out on a Thursday. It was also out at my office, so I had Friday off. That was nice! Except, C. and I were freezing. C. went to her boyfriend’s apartment for the weekend, because the power company had no ETA for getting the power back on. I had no money for a hotel, and from what I’d heard from people, the area hotels were pretty full anyway. There were shelters, but I didn’t want to go to a shelter, because I am stubborn. Besides, people didn’t really freeze to death in an apartment, did they? No. Not in the 21st century, right?

Aw, look how fun power outages are! NO. LIES. THIS IS NOT PIONEER TIMES. WE NEED LIGHTS AND HEAT, YO.

Well, I came really close. I started shivering uncontrollably. I started taking hot baths until I ran out of hot water and had to wait for the tank to fill back up while I shivered to stay warm. The cats slept in a tight ball under the covers with me and gave me some body heat, but there wasn’t that much to go around. Yes, I could probably have called a friend and asked to sleep on their couch? But…I have this weird thing about asking for help. I don’t. And I won’t. Even when I need to. I’m stubborn and I’m proud and I’m through and through 100% my dad’s daughter and we’d both rather crawl bare-naked over broken glass than admit we need a hand with something. Or anything, really. So I spent Thursday and Friday night almost dying in my apartment. Saturday I had work, where there was power. I called my parents from work before I left and just BAWLED. I was all, “if I get home and there’s no power I’m just getting in the car where at least there’s heat and I’m driving to the theater and I’m sleeping in the green room on the puffy couch because AT LEAST WE HAVE HEAT IN THE THEATER AND I THINK I MIGHT DIE IF I SPEND ONE MORE NIGHT AT HOME. Oh, also, I’m going to bring the cats with me because they are so little and only have so much fur, you know?” And when I got home there were lights in my complex. And I was all “OH I CAN’T EVEN THANK YOU THANK YOU” and I cried and cried until I got to my building, way in the back? Which had NO POWER. Only building in the complex without it. And that is how I knew I was cursed by the Lord. FINE I’M EXAGGERATING WHATEVER. So I went in and lit all the candles and swaddled myself in a zillion blankets and checked on the cats.

I seriously have never wanted to be a cat more in my life. They were FINE.

They seriously fine, I mean, chilly, but sleeping in a little warm cat-ball and warmer than I was. I made a gallon of soup and inhaled it until it felt like I swallowed a coal and put the cats under my blankets so I could soak up some of their warmth and shivered and shivered and a few hours later, the lights came on, and I was TOO EXHAUSTED TO CRY. And that is the story of how I almost died in the ice storm that took away our power because I was too stubborn to ask for help or go to the homeless shelter. And my father still mentions that sometimes. “Remember that time you ALMOST DIED? Even I’M not that stubborn. Sheesh, Daughter.”)

Anyway, back to the real story, WHAT REAL STORY AMY, shush, you, ANYWAY, I got out of the bathroom of cool shower goodness and it was STILL SO HOT. So I said, I will put the fan in the window to suck the cool air into the bedroom because there is no wind and this apartment is like the stillest hotbox of hot that ever hotted.

I own like four of these suckers. I am OBSESSED with box fans.

So with much cussing and dropping of things and maneuvering and wedging and jamming the curtains into the window so that the sun wouldn’t wake me up (I mean, not that it would, because I had to wake up FAR BEFORE THE SUN the next day, but the theory was sound, plus if curtains get in the way of the fan, they either flap all around and bother people, or they suck into the fan and don’t allow any cool air to get to you) I got the fan in the window. And then I realized the on-off button was BEHIND the fan so I had to UNDO EVERYTHING I DO and REDO IT ALL AGAIN but WITH THE WIND BLOWING ALL ON ME. And I was very tired and it was late. But I got it done and the cool air was coming in and Dumbcat came all rushing in all “meow meow MEOW!” so excited about the cool air and rolled and rolled on the bed until he fell off, and then he jumped back on all triumphant “MEOW!” because he is nothing if not resilient. So I didn’t even cover up because I was so hot and the cool air was so nice. And I fell asleep and cooling and spread-eagled on the bed. Until I woke up a couple of hours later AS COLD AS AN ICICLE. Shivering and freezing and Dumbcat had even vacated the premises and was sleeping in the much-warmer living room and I put on a billion blankets and shivered myself to sleep again. Yes, I could have turned off the fan. But it was SUCH A TRIUMPH. Plus, I remembered how terrible it was to be so hot. I’d rather be so cold than so hot any day. At least when you’re so cold you can cover up. When you’re so hot you’re shit out of luck.

So, there is my story of freezing and burning and everything in-between. Also with bonus side-note of almost dying. We really hit all the appropriate highlights here today, right? Total success, temperature-wise.

Dumbcat says to tell you he doesn’t like all the wind, because it gets in his ears and makes him shake his head, but he also doesn’t like being too hot, or too cold. He does, however, like Pounce treats, and it’s past time for him to get some. “Gimme TREATZ MOM,” says Dumbcat. And who am I to argue, really? (Oh, side note SIDE NOTE! My lovely friend R. at work who reads this – HI R.! – asked the other day, “Does he have a name, Dumbcat? Or is that his name?” and that made me smile. Dumbcat totally has a real name. I very seldom use it, however. I usually call him Tater, to tell you the truth. Because he has the mental facilities of a potato. When I’m feeling especially keen toward him, I call him My Little Sweet Potato.

Aw, it’s Dumbcat’s brain-area! (Ironically, I HATE sweet potatoes. But I love my cat, yes I do.)

He might think that’s his name right now, actually. I call him that more than I call him by his real official name, honestly. TRUE STORIES OF LIFE IN AMYLAND! Oh, and R. is moving away in a couple of months, which makes me happy – for her – and sad – for me. I WILL MISS YOU, R.!)

Happy weekend, people! Enjoy it as much as you possibly can! Do all the things!


Ask For Me Tomorrow and I Shall Be a Grave (Wo)Man

Well, here we are. In 24 hours, I will either be home, or just about home. What, Amy? I can hear you thinking. (Yes, I can totally hear you thinking, I know, I might be psychic, I should find a way to make money from this, right? If I could find a way to make money from all of the awesome things I’m able to do I’d be the richest lady in Bedford Falls.) How will you already be almost home at 10am Friday morning since you’re writing this at 10am even though it probably won’t be posted until like noon or one or something because you know you’re probably going to write for two hours and also people in your office keep giving you work as if they don’t know you are a very famous blogger, let’s be frank? Well, reader whose thoughts I can totally read because I’m like the Miss Cleo of blogging, the answer is this: I am a chronic insomniac and the day before a trip, it gets oh so much worse, because my head is as stuffed full of thoughts as a Christmas turkey is stuffed full of – well, stuffing, I suppose, and, oh, I don’t know, giblets? Gross slimy things like that, anyway – so the odds I WON’T be up at 4am tomorrow ready to go are slim-to-none. I’m betting I’ll be on the road by 6. Which is nice, because no one’s on the road but me and exhausted long-haul truckers who meander out of their lanes because they’re sleeping behind the wheel. That’s not at all nervous-making.

Now it has come to my attention that at least two of you will miss me. I would have thought it would be more, but I guess when you’re going away for three and a half days, you learn who your REAL FRIENDS ARE. And mine are Ken and Andreas. So apparently only people in Europe love me enough to miss me when I’m away? Suck it, the rest of you who won’t miss me at all. (Oh, hush, I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m sure at least one other person will miss me, maybe two, it’s Christmas, after all, people are predisposed to be kinder.)

I’m going to attempt to blog while I’m home. Now, this is going to take some doing, because, as I mentioned, dialup. I think – I’m not sure, but I *think* – I can type up an entry in Word, dial into the internet, wait half an hour for it to connect, upload it to WordPress, wait another half an hour for it to post, and then kind of cross my fingers and toes and see what happens. So maybe you’ll see something from me tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday, or all three. If not, I’m back on Monday, minions and minionettes, and all will be well. And I’ll have STORIES. Oh, will I have stories. What will I get for Christmas? What shenanigans will my family get up to? What adorable things will The Nephew say or do? (Listen, I can answer that right now, the answer is ALL THE THINGS. Everything the kiddo DOES is adorable. Including punching me in the FACE. Also, when he does that, he gets timeout, and I asked my mom if I could sit with him in timeout, and she said I couldn’t, and I said, “What if I did something naughty, could I sit with him in timeout then? So I could spend more time with him?” and she said no, I’d have to sit in my own timeout in a different part of the house. This plan isn’t working out at all.) How brainless yet lovable will my brother’s dog be? THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS I TELL YOU.

Also, I have a whole plan for a thing I want to do? But my father says it’s morbid and when I told him I’m totally going to do it he said “I AM HANGING UP NOW YOU ARE A WEIRDO HERE TALK TO YOUR EQUALLY WEIRD MOTHER.”

Tomorrow I’m going to the cemetery to say hi to my grandparents? Because I love them and I miss them and it’s Christmas and I like to visit them sometimes and let them know I haven’t forgotten them, because even when people have a heart of coal they sometimes love people. Now, in that SAME CEMETERY, my parents have bought a plot for themselves. And they had a stone installed. With their names carved into it with their dates of birth and everything but blank for their date of death because they’re not dead yet like that guy in Monty Python. Do you find this overly morbid? I do. I know this is something people do, but I find it distressing. So there’s this plot and this stone with “AMY’S MOM DATE OF BIRTH – BLANK” and “AMY’S DAD DATE OF BIRTH – BLANK” just sitting there, waiting. So that’s worrisome. (Yes, yes, it says their real names. How funny and self-centered would it be if it really said Amy’s Mom and Amy’s Dad? Hee.)

But oh, it gets better.

So at the same time they bought those plots, there were plots available on either side of them. And my brother and I were, at the time, FOREVER ALONE. Now, my brother may or may not be when he dies, but let’s be honest, I’m going to be. So they were all, “Hey, Amy and Amy’s brother, do you want us to snap up these plots on either side of us so we can all sleep together in eternal slumber because plots are GOING FAST?” Like telemarketers or used-car-salesmen, my parents. And I don’t know what my brother said, probably “Grummphmrph” (he grunts a lot) but I was all “Sure, whatever, FOREVER ALONE” because who the hell cares and honestly, I kind of thought it was a hypothetical and so the next day my mother was all “So we got you a plot!”

Um, I didn’t really think this was going to happen.

Yes, I’m in my mid-thirties and now know where I’m going to spend all of time once I am a dead person. In a plot in upstate New York. Oh, sure, it’s very NICE, there are TREES and shit, one time I saw a SQUIRREL FROLICKING, whatever, but I find this off-putting.

I explained to my mother that under no circumstances was I to be buried there without being cremated first because that would mean at my wake people would look at my dead body and possibly touch me without my say-so and the idea of that creeps me out and also, what if I hated that person in life and would never, never have let them touch me? and she was all “whatever, I’ll be dead by then.” I’m totally serious, though. If I die and no one cremates me I’m going to be furious and come back and haunt whoever decided that letting people touch my dead body was a good idea. I hate that. I hate that we go to wakes and there’s a dead damn body sitting there. It makes me so nervous. No dead person would want that. You can’t tell me that the dead person would have wanted to look like a bad wax statuette of themselves and have people walk by them like they’re a display in a cut-rate museum. It is WEIRD. I want an URN. And just throw it in a HOLE. I’m DEAD. Who CARES. STOP TOUCHING MY DEAD BODY. Ugh.

So ANYWAY, when I go visit my grandparents tomorrow, I’m going to go check out my real estate. It’s the first land I’ve ever owned, I’m totally excited about it.

This conversation then happened with my father.

Me: So Dad, we’re going to the cemetery to see your mom and dad tomorrow.

Dad: That’s nice.

Me: Also my GRAVE.

Dad: You’re a weirdo.

Me: I want to lay on it.

Dad: What the hell is wrong with you.

Me: No, I mean, not like because I’m tired, that’d be stupid, who’d do that, that’s not even funny. Like I’m dead. With my eyes closed and my hands crossed on my chest. Like a dead person.

Dad: It is WINTER. There is SNOW on the ground. And it is COLD.

Me: Mom said the snow all melted so it’s just wet but she’ll bring a shower curtain for me to lie on.

Dad: Your mother is OK with this? You’re both insane.

Me: I think it would be HILARIOUS.

Dad: You’re going to put the photo on your blog, aren’t you?

Me: Why the hell else would I take it?

Dad: No one wants to see that.

Me: You don’t know my people. They would LOVE to see it.

Dad: They’ll find out where your grave is if you post that photo and then stalk you.

Me: I guess if they went to all that trouble that’s totally flattering. Also, I don’t live at my grave. So they wouldn’t find me there. I guess the joke would be on them, wouldn’t it?

Dad: I also think it’s illegal.

Me: It’s not illegal. You bought that grave. We OWN it. We could plant a damn GARDEN there if we wanted.

Dad: We’re not planting a garden in the cemetery.

Me: We could totally plant carrots there.

Dad: We’re not doing that.

Me: Probably also turnips. But I wouldn’t plant anything too tall, like sunflowers. That would be really obvious and point out we had planted a death garden. We really need to plant low-lying plants. And I was also thinking, since I own it, I kind of want to put a Monopoly hotel on it, so if anyone lands there they owe me money. We should make money from this property we own now.

Dad: You’ve lost your mind.

So yeah, tomorrow, I’m going to the cemetery, and first I’m going to be reverent and say hi to my people and tell them I miss them and some stories and maybe bring them some flowers, then I’m going to spread a shower curtain on my future resting place and make my mother take pictures of me pretending to be dead. You know. As you do on Christmas Eve Eve. Also, it’s not sacrilegious, because the side of the family that’s buried up there would find it HILARIOUS. They have the best senses of humor, those people. They would totally get it. They’d LOVE it. And also, you’ll get a photo of me pretending to be dead in a cemetery, which will be the funniest, right? RIGHT. It’s a win-win, really.

Alright, well that was fun! OK. Let’s see. I should probably wish you all the greetings, in case the computer at home is so slow I die of BOREDOM while using it, therefore necessitating a second, and much less humorous, trip to my shiny gravesite.

Merry Christmas, to those of you celebrating that holiday! May Santa and his elves and reindeer bring you all the goodies, may the newborn Christ bring you peace, may the little drummer boy not give you a headache with all that repetitive pounding, and may you happily veg out while watching Ralphie shoot his eye out on Christmas day on TNT, as all good people should!

Happy Hanukkah, to those of you currently celebrating THAT holiday! May your lamp oil last 8 crazy nights!

Happy Solstice, to those of you celebrating that holiday (which is TODAY, actually, so happy happy Solstice, which is the holiday nearest and dearest to my own heart!) and Happy Yule! May the reborn great horned hunter god bring you joyous tidings in the new year!

Happy Kwanzaa to those of you celebrating that week! May the seven principles live on in your heart throughout the year!

Happy Festivus to those of you celebrating that tomorrow! May your Airing of Grievances be soul-cleansing and may you triumph in your Feats of Strength!

There, have I covered everyone? Probably not. If I missed you, HAPPY WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE! Unless you celebrate something like “hatred of all cultures day” or “punch companion animals in the face day.” I’m not wishing you joyous tidings on something like that. You’re on your own there, Slappy.

I will miss you all, minions! Have all the fun doing whatever it is you do over the holidays. Hopefully I’ll be here, but if not, I’LL BE BACK MONDAY. I promise. Well, unless I die of the grippe whilst laying on my gravesite. It could happen. Wish me luck.


“Eddie, did I leave my training manual in there? MY EYES! AH! NO! MY EYES!!!”

Saturday night! Important things to talk about, people. IMPORTANT THINGS.

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you: SNOWPOCALYPSE.

SNOWPOCALYPSE!

OK, maybe not really snowpocalypse. Maybe it’s just snowing some and then it will be done snowing and is it a pain in the ass? YES it is a pain in the ass. Because it isn’t even HALLOWEEN yet. And that’s nice. Isn’t that nice? That our fall was totally cut short by some sort of nor’easter?

Also, we COULD call it Snowmageddon but let’s not shoot our wad yet, people. It’s only October. Save something for February. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING.

Also, until I moved here, I didn’t know that anyone said nor’easter unless they were in a Stephen King novel? So I like to say it a lot. NOR’EASTER!!!!

So, if you’re not from New York or the east coast, right now, AT THIS VERY MOMENT, it is SNOWING. In OCTOBER. Sometimes? That happens. This is not without precedent. It has happened before. And! Guess what? It will totally happen again. SNOW SOMETIMES HAPPENS WHEN YOU LIVE HERE.

Also, whenever I think of bad weather, I think of Chris Farley’s El Nino sketch. “I am El Nino! That is Spanish for…THE NINO!”

Here are some totally helpful things you can and should do when it snows:

  1. Make sure your heat works
  2. Make sure you are prepared (shovel, winter clothing, ice scraper, a normal amount of food)
  3. Bundle up nice and cozy, preferably with someone you want touching you, and watch something awesome (I recommend, since it is a Halloween snowpocalyse, horror movies) and then maybe take a hot shower, with or without the loved one, your choice

Here are some things I would please ask that you STOP DOING when it snows, please, for the love of Pete:

  1. Driving like the roads are a sheet of ice when they’re not; taking up two lanes for no reason I can ascertain; driving 10 miles an hour on the highway when there’s really no reason for that; not cleaning all the snow off your car and then driving really, really fast past people so they get all of your snow in their face because that’s totally not an asshole move
  2. Calling every single office of every single doctor, lawyer, heating and cooling place, etc. that I answer for at the answering service and SCREAMING at the operator, “I NEED HELP RIGHT NOW BECAUSE IT’S ABOUT TO SNOWWWWWW” as if you’ve never, ever, in your entire life, seen a single flake, or maybe snow is actually acid or hot lava
  3. This is related to number 2, but also, if a business closes early because of an impending SNOWPOCALYPSE? Don’t act like a jerkoff to the answering service about it. “They closed EARLY? Must be NICE,” you sneer. Well. Where are YOU right now, Chumley? At home, you say? Oh, well, then, I guess you have no room to talk, now do you, because YOU are not risking YOUR neck driving home on roads that have been marked as state of emergency just to be there for asshats like you that want to talk to someone for non-emergent reasons like “In three weeks I have an appointment and I’m wondering if you could tell me if there will be plenty of open parking in the lot that day? YES, I have to know today. IT IS TOTALLY AN EMERGENCY.”
  4. Going to the grocery store and stocking up on 47 carts of staples as if you are never, ever going to get to the store again (sidebar: one year, I saw a woman with two carts full of bread. TWO CARTS. A couple of hours before another SNOWPOCALYPSE.  I can’t even imagine. HOW COULD YOU EVER USE THAT MUCH BREAD. Was she going to lay it out on her driveway to shield it from the snow? Was she going to make a little fort out of it? Was she going to cover herself in it in lieu of winter clothing? IT BOGGLED THE MIND.) You don’t need ALL the bread, milk, and peanut butter. Do you need maybe one of each? Sure. Sure you do. But you know what? I bet the day after SNOWPOCALYPSE you will be able to get back to the store for more supplies. It is a safe bet you will.

Nothing gets me hotter than motivational posters and a speakerphone

All Over Albany pointed me toward this news story this week. In case you are TOO LAZY TO CLICK (and if you are, seriously, you really need to take some iron supplements, or something, what is wrong with you) here are some highlights:

A former NYS Department of Environmental Conservation employee was arraigned in court recently for racking up over $20,000 in phone-sex-line fees that he charged to his office, over 500 work hours, in four different work conference rooms in the office in the hopes that the calls wouldn’t be tracked back to him. He called a plethora of juicily-named phone sex lines (and it’s worth clicking on that first link just to see how that totally official NYS PDF is all listing phone sex lines like “VIP Sensual Chat” and “Secret Encounters.”) I especially like this quote from the second article: “The latter five charges say that Reilly knowingly filed false time sheets saying he was working when he was spending hours talking dirty on the phone.” Heh. “Talking dirty.” Awesome. WE ARE FIVE YEARS OLD.

OK, I know, I’m totally naive, here, but here are some questions I have.

  1. How the hell big is the NYS DEC office that it has at least 4 conference rooms? My office has, TOTAL, four conference rooms. And I can tell you, if I was “talking dirty” in one of them, my co-workers would know. Those walls are paper-thin. I think the NYC DEC office is like a gigantic cavern. Which is awesome, but also kind of makes me jealous.
  2. Who thinks talking dirty at work is a good idea? I mean, does your office have a conference room? THEY ARE NOT SEXY. They’re all bland, bland, bland. Bland wall treatments, a bland picture of something bland, and in my office, at least, most of them are stuffed with outdated tax manuals. WHAT WOULD GET YOUR MOTOR RUNNING ABOUT THIS.
  3. $20,000? Really? That is INSANE. 500 hours? $20,000? So, let’s do some math, even though we know math = totally the hardest, right, Barbie? 500 hours, $20,000. That means the phone sex lines cost $40 an hour? OK, I know that seems awesome? But think about this with your thinker. I get my eyebrows done, because otherwise I totally am a yeti? And that takes her 10 minutes. For this service, I pay her $10, with a $5 tip. (She DESERVES it. She is KILLER with my brows. I mean it. YETI, you guys. Not even kidding.) So she makes $15 for 10 minutes. Which means my awesome, kickass stylist makes $90 an hour. And listen, I love her to PIECES (I have followed her to three salons, so deep is my love) but phone sex seems TOTALLY THE HARDEST. How would you not LAUGH? You deserve extra money for not laughing. I mean, the minute some sad sack asked me, “So what are you wearing?” in a pervy voice I’d be in utter and complete cliche-driven giggles. $90 > $40, in case you’re keeping track. PHONE SEX OPERATORS YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.
  4. I feel SO BAD for his coworkers I can’t even. You KNOW they knew what was going on. He’d probably get all excited, and all, “Have to make a call,” and walking all stiff, and they’d roll their eyes and be all “Oh, for the love of…Eddie’s going back to his wank-a-thon again, better tell the cleaning crew to bring extra Lysol tonight,” and they’d do whatever possible, including TALKING REALLY LOUD ABOUT NONSENSE, to drown out good old pervy Eddie’s jack-o-rama in Conference Room B.

“Judy! JUDY. DID YOU GET THAT EMAIL I SENT YOU?”

“…uh…yeah…that’s it…talk about that…what are you doing right now…”

“YES! I DID, JIM! THAT WAS ONE FUNNY LOLCAT!”

“…you’re a dirty girl, aren’t you, Shana…yeah, that’s it, baby…”

“I LIKE WHEN THE LOLCATS COME OUT OF THE CEILING THE BEST!”

“uh…you know I like that, baby…oh, yes…oh, YES…”

“CEILING CAT HA HA HA JIM! JIM! WILL THIS EVER END?”

“oh…Shana…you’re the best, baby…almost there now…yeah…”

“WHAT’S THAT, JUDY?”

“Shana…Shana…uh…”

“THIS COMPLETE AND UTTER TORMENT FROM CONFERENCE ROOM B, JIM? I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD SHOOT AMMONIA INTO MY EAR CANALS.”

“YES! SHANA! YES YES YES! I mean…um…thank you, Mr. Thompson. That’s all the information I’ll need for my investor’s report today. Ahem.”

“YES, JUDY, LUCKILY, EDDIE IS NEARING RETIREMENT AGE. ALSO I REPLACED HIS VIAGRA WITH TIC TACS.”

Shh…We’re Hunting Wabbits

Today, I got a text from a friend.

“You have a blog! Busted.”

Which is kind of funny? Because strangers read this daily, but the fact that REAL LIFE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW IN REAL LIFE WHO ARE REALLLLL might read it kind of both scares the shit out of and exhilarates the pants off me in equal measure.

I don’t tell people I know in real life about this. I mean, I don’t hide it, either. It’s on my Facebook page and my Google+ page, both of which are pretty easy for people who know me to find if they feel like Sherlocking it up, I suppose. I just don’t post links to what I write on there. I don’t think most people I know in real life would care that much what I ramble on about and what a complete and total dork I am.

That goddamned Facebook ticker bullshit thing outed me. What the hell, Facebook ticker? I thought I set that thing so nothing I posted ended up on there? I mean, I disabled that bullshit the minute it came out because I have Google Chrome and there’s an app you can add on that makes it DIS-A-FRIGGIN’-PEAR, but apparently things I say ARE ENDING UP ON STALKER TICKER. Total flying below the radar fail. Thanks a lot, Zuckerberg.

I’m totally a shy violet. Don’t tell a soul. Or I’ll chop you up with a chainsaw and feed you to my pet piranha, Fluffy McWigglepants.

Anyway, say hello to N., who may or may not be reading this and be A REAL PERSON I KNOW. N. has the distinction of being one of my favorite actors AND a real-life person that I stalked one time because I saw him in a play and liked his performance SO MUCH that I was BOUND AND DETERMINED to get him to audition for my theater and that didn’t work out at all because my entire plan involved me seeing him one time on the street and was going to talk to him until I realized that made me a cray-cray so I was too scared to and then I thought I would do some investigative work and find out what mutual friends we had and make THEM introduce us, wasn’t that totally underhanded, then I got distracted by something that I’ve forgotten because that was totally like five whole YEARS ago, what do I LOOK like, an ELEPHANT, come ON, people, until he auditioned even without my meddling schemes. Also, he has good hair. How can that be wrong? WELCOME TO N.! CALLOOH CALLAY.

So now we’re up to FOUR WHOLE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW IN REAL LIFE that know I have a blog. I know, right? TOTALLY THE BIG TIME. I’d break out the champagne flutes if I hadn’t broken them all pretty much immediately after getting them. THOSE THINGS ARE TOTALLY FRA-GEE-LAY.


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