Martin Luther King Jr. is my Hero or a Day of Self-Reflection

i have the day off today, for mlk day, which basically just means that i'm still in my pajamas. but while wandering around the kitchen, talking to the animals, i got to thinking about something mikey said...

mikey: blah, blah, blah holidays about reflection...

ok, i wasn't listening entirely, but the main point (in my recollection) was that it's good to reflect on life and whatnot. so i said to taylor, i said,

taytay, we should probably do some pondering on life. what is it that we want? what should we do to better ourselves and the world around us, preferrably without leaving the apartment since i'm still in my pajamas? what, taylor? stop eating paper and listen to me! this is important!

after much tissue eating and meditation, i finally came up with something that i think is bordering on monumental:

i'm going to quit my job to be able to stay at home and watch ellen.

it may not seem like a lot of thought went into this, but it did! i swear! you see, i was sitting on my couch thinking about changes i want to make in my life when i decided that the best way to start my betterment process is to be well-read. so i went into my bedroom to grab one hundred years of solitude (the book, not the concept).

but before i could begin reading, i discovered that i was thirsty, so i went to get some water from the kitchen.

once there, i noticed some old food that had gone stale, and i decided i should probably do some cleaning of the pantries and whatnot.

while i was going through the fridge, feeling intimidated, the doorbell rang, so i went downstairs to see who was there. it was a package for chris, which i then brought upstairs and put on the coffee table.

i noticed it was snowing and realized the perfect activity for a snowy day would be to read my book.

so i then went back to my room to get my book, and i realized how dark it is in my room. not at all good for the eyes when you're reading. what's perfect for doing in dark rooms, in fact, isn't reading at all, it's napping.

so i went to mara's and chris's room (which we all know is where i go for naps), and was going to lay down, when i realized that they have some channels on their tv.

i turned it on, and flipped through judge shows and family feud before i saw that ellen was on.

and you know what? ellen is super funny. she actually made me laugh out loud, which was just crazy-awesome.

and i realized that laughter is the key to life. i need to be laughing more and talking to animals less.

clearly, the way to make this happen is to quit my job so that i can be at home to watch ellen.

so, basically, mikey has encouraged me to make the world a better place by quitting my job and sitting at home in my pjs. i think it's a noble cause.

oh, and taylor didn't come up with anything. apparently martin luther king, jr. means nothing to her. hmph.

Second Time Around or The Return of an Affair

debbie reminded me that i have been rude. i mean, can you blame me? i've been ensconced in a new romance, a secret endeavor that was exciting, forbidden, yet strangely comfortable....

i am just now resurfacing for some air. 

yes, it's true.

i bought some NEW BOOTS!

i know what you are thinking. how could i betray my old boots like that? how could i think that i can just "replace" them after so many months of servitude and promises to the old boots? why are there no cupcakes here? and other questions!

i know you're a bit distraught. but just listen (by which i mean read):

now, old boots and i had some great times, and i don't want to point fingers or lay blame, but they split at the seams! water was getting in, and i found that behavior a little passive-aggressive. i mean, if you don't want me to wear you anymore, you just have to tell me, boots.

they broke my heart. really, they did. i endorsed the shit out of those boots, and the callously left me, well, calloused and wet. it's awkward!

i would've just left it at that, resigned myself to living a soggy-socked existence till the end of days. i really would've, too, if shoemania hadn't had a 50% off sale on...

MY NEW BOOTS!

that's right, friends! shoemania, sensing my loss and unhappiness came through in the clutch. and that's how i got my new pair:

but i want you to know, i'm going to do it right this time. no more hollow promises NEW BOOTS! and i have an understanding. if they break, they will do so before 12 months are out or after 2 years, and i, in return, won't use them to kick unsuspecting children. i mean, not often, at least. 

as an added bonus for MY NEW BOOTS!, i have persuaded not one, not two, but three other people to buy the same kind (different colors, of course) so that my boots will not have to go it alone. i'm not going to be controlling this time. nay, i want MY NEW BOOTS! to experience the world with their little boot friends:

so go, little boots, go!

but be back in time for me to trudge home in you through the snow...

Great Sadness or The End of an Affair

sad news, all. after over a year of being in love, i mean, really smitten, the affair is over.

i didn't want it to end this way. i mean, i've literally  spent hours talking about my love and convincing others of its purity. but now, everything has changed. 

you see, i realized the other day that MY NEW BOOTS have a split up the back seam. 

just like that. no warning or anything, they just gave up on me, on our relationship, on everything we've poured into this thing over the past year. and now....well, now it's snowing, and i'm at a loss. 

i can't spend too much time on this, actually. i'm still mourning, and it's going to take some time for me to trust again. 

if you see me, try not to mention it. i'm fairly crushed. 

sniffle.

10,000 Hours from Success or The Six Month Goal

play doh boy has decided that we need six month goals:

this is terrifying because it makes me realize (or brings to the forefront of my mind, i kinda already knew...) that i have no ambition. i really don't care about bettering myself, and this has become even more true now that malcom gladwell:

has turned me onto the fact that i can never be truly successful at anything unless i invest 10,000 hours at it. and even then, i also have to be a genius. a genius, i tell you! this is very discouraging news, as i get bored easily, and i thought the version of trivial pursuit that we owned was the genius V version, which is why it was so hard:

so, yeah...ahem.

anyway, i realize that the point of a goal is to accomplish something that i've been looking to accomplish. but, really, i can't think of anything. and i thought pdb would forget about the whole goal thing and go back to drinking too much and taking cabs when he could easily take the subway, but no. instead, he's forcing everyone who was involved in last year's march madness to now take part in this year's six month hell. 

so, you think of something for me, mkay? great. you let me know what you come up with. better yet, just tell matthew. and then do it for me. 

That Man was Dead! or A Conversation with Barret

barret: that man was dead!

me: yeah, i know

barret: how'd you know?

me: because i saw him hunched over in the same position on my way to dinner, with three police officers hanging out near him. they were making small talk about switching shifts with someone.

barret: well, the guy with the cane told me.

me: did he know him?

barret: he said that he used to hang out under the bridge all day drinking. i asked him what he died of, and he said, he spent all day hanging out under the bridge drinking.

me: it's so depressing, isn't it? i mean, one minute you're alive, and then it's all gone. you're left on a bench--

barret: please! don't ruin my first dead guy for me! stop saying stuff!

me: sorry. i'll see you tomorrow. love you.

barret: love.

Get By with a Little Help or Our Advice to You....

advice column, as defined by wikipedia.com:

An advice column is a column at a magazine or newspaper written by an advice columnist (colloquially known as an agony aunt, or agony uncle if the columnist is a male). The image presented was originally of an older woman providing comforting advice and maternal wisdom, hence the name "aunt".

An advice columnist answers readers' queries on personal problems, in particular giving advice about sexual problems. In many cases, the queries, as well as the answers, have been created in the office, and the agony aunt is actually a team of writers. Marjorie Proops's name appeared (with photo) long after she retired. The nominal writer may be a pseudonym, or in effect a brand name; the accompanying picture may bear little resemblance to the actual author.

Dear Matt and Erin,

My roomates have forbid me from getting a cat. How do i work around them to make my dream of becoming a cat lady a reality?

Dearest Cat Lady-

Dont' be a crazy cat lady. It starts with 1 cat then it continues to multiply until you've become that Crazy Cat Lady down the street that no longer notices the stench of cat piss all over her. Yeah it's best not to venture down that road.

-M

Dear Cat Lady,

I disagree with Matt. You already are crazy. Nobody likes apartments that smell like cat pee. I suggest that you move out of your apartment, move into a box and acquire 15 felines STAT. Then everyone will know you for who you really are. CRAZY.

-E

Dear Matt and Erin,

Hello there, long time reader, first time looking for advice. Me and my husband have a 14 year old daughter Catherine. We live on a farm in Texas with many animals and since Catherine is an only child she loves all of them very much. This is especially true with one of our horses Jeremy. She spends a lot of time in the stables even when all the chores have been completed. Sometimes she falls asleep from working so hard and we find her there the next morning! Anyway, we would like her to make some real friends without taking away her pets and animals. They've been such a source of happiness for her.

Betsy, Dallas

Dearest Betsy in Dallas-

Well first thing, Dallas? Really? Lame. Are you wearing a cowboy hat right now? Yeah, I thought so. Now, I think the best way for you and your child to move past the animals needs to be something monumental. What do I mean? I mean you just need to make one clear and final gesture that being creepy and hanging out in barns is not ok. Thoughts? I have 2 words for you: Glue Factory

-M.

Dear Betsy,

Hm...my partner in advice makes a good point. Dallas? Anyway, all of this talk of horses and a young girl lighting up a cigarette after being out in the barn all night makes me wonder, would your daughter happen to be named for Catherine the Great? Because here's the deal, there is such thing as too MUCH love for a girl, if you no what i mean....no? Fine. Just buy the girl a vibrator and get on with life. I want some m&ms.

-E

Dear Erin and Matt,

i'm young, single and living in the BIG city. I'm interested in dating but can't look/talk/touch people that I'm really interested in. Do you have any suggestions for how I can a) get over that and b) snag a hot date?

Dear Young and Single,

First, I find that the biggest inhibitor when it comes to meeting people is common sense. Maybe you are self-conscious because you are ugly. Or maybe you are really good at reading people's expressions and you know that they find you to be--to put it delicately--awful, overbearing, and

unintelligent. So, you don't approach people you might have a sexual interest in because you can tell that you will be rejected by them. never you worry, gentle reader! I have a solution: alcohol. might, mighty alcohol! Alcohol not only brings your inhibitions crashing down, but it also makes people who are not so attractive more attractive. So even if you don't get your claws into that hot guy you're eying, you can certainly sink them into his dowdy, sad best friend! Either way, the drink is the way to go. or drugs, but they have to be hard drugs. once you've brought someone home with you, they are practically your territory forever, so you can make them be your hot date at any time from there on out.

-E

Dear Young, Single

Ok let's do A first. You just get over it- it's that simple. Now making sure you snag a hot date becomes a bit more tricky. Well first what you need to do is buy a handkerchief and some nail polish remover. Now what you want to do is put a mask over your head (given that today is Halloween this won't be awkward) and go and hang outside the Ford Modeling Agency. Put some polish remover into the handkerchief and wait. Once you see a hottie put the 'hankie' over his mouth until he goes to 'sleep'. Now, he's yours! This is very easy. I do it all the time. The cops will understand- just tell them your situation and that all you wanted was to get laid. But if you don't feel comfortable doing this getting drunk is probably your next best bet- cause yeah, you're probably ugly.

-M

Dear Matt and Erin,

I have been married for several years now, but sometime over the last year I contracted a case of herpes. My wife doesn't show any signs and insists that I contracted it some other way. I know my wife is faithful, in fact, we've talked about it over the course of our marriage. Plus, it hasn't been brought up since she returned from a cruise with her college friends last Spring. What other ways could this have happened to me?

Thanks,

A bit sore in Atlanta

Dear Crabby (oh, I mean, a bit sore in Atlanta)

Have you ever seen the movie Overboard? Well I suggest you watch it, it's an epic blockbusterfrom 1987. Goldie Hawn does wonders. Enough about the best film in our generations history and onto your problem. Now I can understand how this might be puzzling for you. I awkwardly enough have had a little experience in this arena. I too once went on a cruise called the 'Celebrity Haaaay' cruise line and found a pool boy named Julio. He was a Brazilian man cleaning the pool in a green gstring. Anywho, I digress. What I'm basically trying to say is your wife is a whore and she slept most likely the pool boy. That or you go to a gym with a bunch of skanks and they don't wash the towels properly.

Glad I could help.

-M.

Dear Sore-y in Atlanta,

Have you ever considered that maybe you are the whore? I mean, I don't want to point fingers or anything, but since you know your wife is faithful, it's probably YOU who is cheating. This makes the most sense, and since you are probably exposing your dear, sweet wife to your infected genitals, you should consider lobbing off the offending unit so as not to put your wonderful, wonderful, faithful wife into harms way.

-E

Dear Matt and Erin,

Do you ever forget where your nose is on your face? I do. What can I do to remedy this situation?

Dear Nose-body-

Easy. Solution: http://www.orientaltrading.com/ui/browse/processRequest.do?demandPrefix=12&sku=14/329&mode=Searching&erec=10&D=clown+costume&cm_mmc=google-_-otc+sendtec+apparel-_-clown+costume-_-clown+wigs&Ntt=clown+costume&Ntk=all&Dx=mode%2bmatchallpartial&Ntx=mode%2bmatchallpartial&searchTerm=clown+costume&N=0&BP=8917&requestURI=processProductsCatalog&Source=Google&sd=Light-Up+Red+Nose

Dear Forgetful,

Becky, is that you? I mean, you were talking about not being able to find your nose yesterday, so I just thought....anyway, no. No one ever forgets where their nose is but you. Use a mirror. Then you will be able to see where to put your Zicam swabs. Unless you are a vampire and can't see your reflection, in which case, Zicam won't help you much anyway.

-E

Volunteering or A Sight for Sore Eyes

mayhaps you recall awhile back when i kept signing up to volunteer and then ditched out at the last minute. my reasoning was that this way, i can still get the acclaim from people around me:

oh erin! you're SO great! you sign up to volunteer!

without actually having to be around people in need. not that i have really obvious commitment issues or anything, because i TOTALLY don't...ahem.

anyway, this week, i decided, what the hell? i'll go, i'll go. i'll go. i'll go. and i did. well, i went once, not four times. and i was a little bit late getting there. but that's not the point!

the point is something like this: so i went to do this project i sometimes do where i help people with severely low or no vision do art projects. basically, i'm their eyes in whatever capacity that means for the person i happen to be working with. (deal with the preposition there, dad. i'm exerting my independence). i like this program because i get to play with ribbons and paint, and if things end up looking a little crappy, no one's the wiser. everyone wins!

but this week, it became abundantly clear that i should NOT, in fact, be volunteering, that, in fact, tis better for me to drop out before actually appearing at the volunteer site.

turns out, i steal.

from the blind.

this is actually 100% true, but in my defense, i NEEDED that wire in order to complete my halloween costume, and what with broomball games* and hamburgers all this week, i didn't know when i would fit in a trip to buy the wire. also i kept forgetting. and i'm lazy.

but if it makes everyone feel better, i feel slightly bad about stealing from the blind. i would put it somewhere on the feeling bad spectrum between kicking kittens and not telling someone his headlights are still on:

pretty low on the continuum, really, but just in case, and since i just finished repenting, i thought i'd get it out there.

really, i don't want there to be any secrets between us....thanks for understanding. you're a doll.

*misleading. no brooms were actually used in the playing of this game.

My Body's Aching and My Time is at Hand or Free Fallin'

last night, mikey made me go to a total body workout class where a guy who looked like this:

made me feel like this:

today, i am sore. my body aches, and i know more than ever that my body exists because i can feel everything that it's doing, and not in a good way.

so, when i FELL in front of disheveled british guy (and we're kind of dressed alike again):

it was painful in multiple ways....

i mean, can you still be twins with someone once you've fallen on your ass in front of them?

did i jar our twinness out of our systems by falling?

did i really just do the splits?!

can i do them again?

all in all, it's been a horrible day. i hurt. so much. and i blame mikey....

The Haphazard Journey or Why are You Here?

so, a couple of weeks ago (who's counting?) this guy shows up at the office. not a big deal, and i wouldn't normally notice, as there are often people that i've never seen before floating about (also i may have a touch of the alzheimer's), but this guy was kinda comical.

he was all...flustered and...expressive and didn't seem to know where he was going. in short, he looked exactly like this photo i took of him:



a couple of days later, i noticed the same fellow wandering the halls aimlessly. i started to wonder if he actually worked with me or if he somehow found his way into the building and got lost. like in that book about the mall except that i don't actually remember what that book is about:


anyway, long story short(ish), he spoke and turns out he has an accent. thus was born the nickname disheveled british guy.* (does it count as a nickname when you don't know a person's actual name?)

so, i saw disheveled british guy yesterday, and we were dressed alike. no, really, it was like the day becky and i accidentally dressed to match back at the old job:

it was so crazy, and we laughed heartily about it.

ha ha ha!

then TODAY, we were dressed kind of alike AGAIN:



it was SO strange, and i think that disheveled british guy and i might actually be twins. it's strange to finally meet your twin after all of these years. i really feel like lily tomlin and bette midler when they meet themselves in big business:



i wonder what he's going to wear tomorrow....

*disheveled british guy might actually be australian.

**i'm not the only person who has noticed disheveled british guy. there may even be a plot to turn him into sheveled japanese girl just to mix things up. but perhaps i've said too much already....

Burlap Sacks or Why No One Will Ever Love Me (Ever)

so, jeff, a friend of mine, recently reminded me that he is taller, more lithe and generally more attractive than me. he did it in the most back-handed way, which was to basically tell me that he is so tall, it makes things difficult for him.

like the scene in bambi where he's trying to ice skate:

but you see how cute bambi is?

then jeff goes on to tell me that it's probably easy for me to skate and what not since i'm so short and squat. you know, all of that low center of gravity crap that is basically telling me that i'm like a lumpy sack of potatoes:

you think that this would be enough. i mean, i'm already crying (you want to point out how puffy my eyes get when i'm in TEARS, jeff??) and everything. but no. he goes ON to say :

sorry. if it makes you feel any better most shirts fit me like drapes.

hm...nope. doesn't make me feel better. i struggled long and hard to get into my t-shirt this morning since my head is too big, my neck too fat and my body all lumpy, so the fact that no one makes clothing to fit your skinny-ass frame doesn't actually make me feel better.

what does? the prospect of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream and hibernating through the winter:

(okay, so this isn't ENTIRELY me, but no one creepily takes pictures of me while i'm asleep. at least, not to my knowledge....)

anyway, thanks jeff. no, no, really. i like sleeping ALONE FOREVER since no one will ever love me....

sniffle.



PROOF!