A True Tale of Horror

Once upon time, a very long time ago, in a not at all magical land called Dublin, Ohio a 10 year old girl who would one day grow up to have a blog and a fantastic working knowledge of sarcasm, threw had a slumber party for 5 of her closest friends.

 

As would be revealed in her teenage years (once her obsession with The Cure became all too apparent), the little girl had a bit of a fascination with the macabre.  This very fascination, while later contributing to her witty, yet somewhat disturbing sense of humor as an adult, is what also led her to decide renting The Exorcist to show to all of her little friends would be a simply wonderful idea.

 

Our somewhat disturbed little heroine had an equally disturbed friend named Bryn and a sweet, innocent and extremely gullible friend named Heather who were both planning on attending the slumber party, much to the twisted little host’s delight.

 

The six girls, after decimating the makeup collection of the warped and never to be trusted again host’s mother wandered down to the living room, snuggled up in their sleeping bags, turned off all the lights and settled in to watch The Exorcist.

 

Needless to say, this movie scared the crap out of each and every one of these little girls with the exception of the demented Bryn who snuck upstairs to our evil little heroine’s bedroom unnoticed by the other little girls at some point during the movie.  The movie, which incidentally, I believe was 1973’s “feel good movie of the year”, but I digress.

 

The sick and demented Bryn had earlier in the night noticed that our slumber party host had a crucifix hanging in her room, just as each of these girls did being the good Catholic children that they were.  Bryn had also, unbeknownst to the rest of the girls, seen The Exorcist before. 

 

Shortly after Linda Blair spewed pea soup all over a priest and then did things to herself with a crucifix that required the little girls to get therapy after witnessing them, the unimaginably demented Bryn let out a blood curdling scream.

 

Realizing that, based on the screaming, one of their very best friends was surely about to meet her doom in the slumber party host’s bedroom, the remaining 5 girls ran up the stairs as fast as they could only to see Bryn pointing in sheer terror at a now upside-down crucifix hanging on the wall.  The girls were terrified and convinced that there was an unknown evil in the house that was sure to kill them all and began screaming bloody murder.  This lasted for about 10 seconds until they decided the best course of action would be to run like hell.

 

The little girls fled down the hallway, led by the very sweet, but very gullible Heather, who upon coming to the staircase simply froze.  She was so terrified she was unable to move and no amount of demon possession was going to change that.

 

Our evil little heroine, who was convinced that the devil was finally coming to get her (just as her grandmother had always told her would happen if she wasn’t good) was not going to let a little thing like her best friend’s body get in the way of getting the hell out of the house.  So, she did the only thing she could do and pushed Heather down the stairs. 

 

Once the demented Bryn saw Heather’s now semi-lifeless body laying at the foot of the stairs as the 4 other girls jumped over her and ran out the front door and down the street, she realized that perhaps she had demonstrated an error in judgment and told the girls that it was she who had turned the crucifix upside-down and not Satan himself as originally thought.

 

Imagine the horror of the slumber party host’s mother as Bryn tearfully confessed to the prank.  Imagine the very pissed off mother chasing 4 hysterical girls down the street…4 little girls who are running in 4 different directions all while screaming that “The Power of Christ Compels You!!!” at the top of their lungs.  Imagine the completely irate mother who had to calm down the beyond hysterical and now near catatonic Heather. 

 

And that is why the little girl wasn’t allowed to have anymore slumber parties for a very long time.

 

The End.

 

***Yes, my mom knew we were watching The Exorcist.  Yes, she checked that it was okay with all the other parents that we were going to watch The Exorcist.  Yes, we were all raised by idiots who figured “what harm could it do”.

I Fixed the Economy & Nick Ran Over a Homeless Man

No really, I single-handedly fixed the economy.  I went shopping with Marissa and Sarah on Saturday and spent enough money to drag this country kicking and screaming out of this recession we’re having.  Seriously, it is all okay now, stop watching your 401(k)’s tank and waiting for the Fed to lower interest rates, we’re all going to be okay, and I got pretty, pretty clothes in the bargain.

As for Nick running over the homeless man, I am not exaggerating here, and you all need to mock him unmercifully for this (as I have been since it happened).  Now, before anyone freaks out; he didn’t actually kill the homeless man, the guy wasn’t even injured.

 

We were on our way back from the Vagiana Festival (which, incidentally was rather fun, but holy hell there were a lot of drunk women falling down there) and since we were both starving, we decided to go to one of our favorite 24 hour Mexican restaurant.  This story makes much more sense if you happen to know where Spanish Flowers in Houston is located…and that would be, in the freaking ghetto. 

 

We are stopped at a light on the corner of Holy-Hell-There’s-a-Man-with-a-Gun Ave. and Crack Baby Ln. where 4 or 5 panhandlers were asking for change.  Now, this in and of it’s self is not a big deal.  We live in Houston, there are going to be panhandlers and 99.9% of them are harmless and I usually feel sorry for them and give them a dollar, but we were fortunate to run into a crazy man.

 

The crazy man in question (who looked exactly like the Unibomber) approached the car with a bucket of typhoid infested water and a squeegee attempting to clean Nick’s windshield.  Now, the guys who attempt to wash your windshield while you’re stopped at a red light are probably Nick’s biggest pet peeve in the entire world, even more than sushi, Joni Mitchell or people who say “No, I’m good” in response to his asking “May I help you?” when they come into his store because, apparently, he didn’t ask them if they were “good” or not.

 

Anyway…Typhoid Water Squeegee Dude decides, even after Nick has told him not to, that he is going to wash the windshield regardless of Nick’s increasingly loud protests.  Nick decides that his only course of action is to turn on his windshield wipers, because, ya know…that’s going to stop a crazy dude dead in his tracks.

 

“Oh No!!! Not the windshield wipers!!!  I am powerless against their wiping action and terrified by how quickly they move.  RUN AWAY!!!  Before they ATTACK!!!”

 

This only served to anger the Typhoid Water Squeegee Dude who began flailing his arms wildly and shouting something that was completely unintelligible.  So (and please remember that we’re stopped at a red light here) Nick decided that since this man was not appropriately terrified of the windshield wipers, his only course of action was to pull the car ahead by about 6 inches.  Upon doing this, Typhoid Water Squeegee Dude started screaming, grabbing his foot, and smacking the crap out of the side mirror on the car.  At which point, my husband screamed something that sounded like “AGGKKAHGRRRB SNERFICLE” and pulled full on into oncoming traffic.

 

Thankfully we were not killed by a giant truck that actually had the right of way at that particular intersection.  Nor was the homeless guy injured because he was still waving his arms and threatening the car behind us with his squeegee.

 

We get to the restaurant without any further incident and when I saw the police officer who was guarding the restaurant (I told you it was in the ghetto) I threatened Nick that I was going to tell the officer that he had just mutilated a homeless man with his car.  Nick promptly told me to shut the hell up or he would leave me in the ghetto.

 

And of course, we had to pass the same damned intersection on our way home and saw the undeterred Typhoid Water Squeegee Dude still trying to wash people’s windshields weather they wanted him to or not, so I don’t think the guy was actually injured.  But that isn’t stopping me from mocking Nick and calling him the “Assassin of the Homeless”.

 

Do I need to point out he fact that Nick was not at all amused when we were driving to Empire Café on Sunday and saw another homeless man and I decided to say “Sir, you need to RUN!!!  Get out of the way!!! My husband likes to run over panhandlers!!!”

 

And then Nick tried to leave me on the side of the road.

 

So he could turn around, come back, and run me over.

Random Letters

Dear Company I Work For:

Enough Already!  You’re freaking everyone right the fuck out with your shenanigans, and all that other stuff I’m not allowed to talk about.  At least let me blog about this so people won’t think I’m crazy when I start abusing prescription drugs.  

Also, don’t forget that as your HR person, I’m the one who has to deal with the above mentioned employees who are freaking the fuck out, so please at least make my day more bearable by allowing me to wear sweatpants to work.

 Oh, and another thing….turn the fucking air conditioner off as we are all freezing to death!

 Sincerely,

Your extremely stressed, almost panicking HR chick

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Dear Skin,

 What the fuck?  When did you decide to go all adolescent on me and start breaking the hell out?  I have been extremely kind to you.  I have lavished you with very expensive cleansers and moisturizers, never gone to sleep with makeup on my face, always made sure I was drinking enough water and have not dared to let any amount of sunlight hit my face without a protective SPF barrier in the last 15 years!!!  Why hast thou forsaken me?

 Please get your shit together,

The one you are currently making look horrible

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Dear Sephoria,

 If you are out of that Benefit Boo-Boo Zit Zapper stuff then there is a very good chance that I will have a complete meltdown in your store.  There is also about an 85.2% chance that crying will be involved.

 You really are the closest thing I have to a religion,

The one who spends way too much money in your store

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Dear Crazy In-Law’s

 No, for the 9 Billionth time, I don’t want to haul my ass over to your house to watch FIL open the birthday presents he got last week from various people who are not me.  I had a crappy week and just don’t want to.

 No, I don’t want you to “just leave all the gifts out on the living room floor so that I can take a look at them the next time I come over” which should be any moment now since you haven’t seen me in a whopping 6 days and are calling incessantly to remind me of that fact.  Please put that shit in the closet where you won’t look at it for at least 2 years along with all the other crap people have gotten you over the years that you will eventually re-gift.

 And, for the love of all that is holy, let me have a weekend with my husband where you are not calling every 5 minutes. 

 I love you both to death, but you are crazy and should be put in a test tube and studied by high ranking government officials wearing HazMat suits, like those guys in E.T.

 Kisses,

Your somewhat disgruntled daughter-in-law

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Dear Husband,

 If you answer the phone this weekend, I will have to kill you.  Also, why are you making me go to the Vagiana Festival?  I actually HAVE a vigiana and don’t want to go, and don’t tell me that just because the chick that used to be in K’s Choice is going to be there is a valid reason.

 I want to go to Rise Against and you want to go to the Vagiana Festival.  I think we have some gender identity issues to work out, but I still love you tons.

 You are a saint for marrying me,

Your insane wife who doesn’t know how you put up with her

Sorry, no update for you…Come Back One Week!

Yes, I know…I owe you all a post about the father-in-law’s 70^th birthday party, but I have this awful upper respatory infection going on (or possibly ebola or feline leukemia) and cannot manage to string a coherent sentence together right now.

 

I promise to update over the weekend, but in a nutshell…it went well.   Lots of running around like a crazy person, my mom and the father of one of my oldest friends flirting like crazy, father-in-law cried with joy at a presentation we did for him, I broke my car and it cost $200 to fix and then I got drunk and fell down. 

 

Okay, I didn’t fall down, but someone please remind me that no sleep + no food + lots of stress + lots and lots of alcohol = very, very drunk.  I seriously had no idea how the fuck much I was drinking, but I will not be doing that any time in the near future.

To Busy to Come up with a Catchy Title

Remember when I said that I had the easiest job in the world and I really didn’t have a whole lot to do on a daily basis?  We shall now refer to that time as “The Good Old Days”.  Holy Freaking Jabeezus have I been busy!  I had no less that 5 conference calls yesterday (one of which was about an idiot in Louisiana who was convinced the electronic hand scanner/time clock thing was going to electrocute him).  After which, I managed to walk into a meeting for about 15 minutes (it was all the time I had between conference calls) and walk out with 3 new massive projects.  I also have 4 conference calls scheduled today in addition to two meetings. 

 

Although, oddly enough…I’m really enjoying my job a lot more now because I am, apparently, a masochist. 

 

Basically, work didn’t so much explode, as it vomited all over me and then refused to get me so much as a baby wipe to clean the vomit from my shirt. 

 

This was so NOT the week for this to happen.  We’ve been planning my father-in-law’s 70^th birthday party for a month and a half now and the party is this Saturday.  There is no way I can even express how not ready for this party I am.  I still have a ton of shit to do, but I’m spending all my time at work rather than doing what I need to do for the party. 

 

I know, it doesn’t sound like a birthday party should be a big deal, but we’re not talking about cake and punch in somebody’s living room, we’re talking 150 people at a reception hall.  There will be freaking members of Congress at this party.  Members of Congress that my husband has made me promise not to harass for their anti-choice voting record, their idiotic unwavering support for the war, or their dumb misconceptions about stem cell research.  He’s even forbidden me from mocking one such Congressperson for his DUI arrest a while back!!!

 

He is completely taking away what little enjoyment I’m going to get out of this party since the only other thing I have left to look forward to is absconding with a bottle of Scotch and retreating into the parking lot where I can smoke and getting slightly hammered w/ Sarah and Marissa….but then again….that’s a really great thing to look forward to considering that I am absolutely enamored with Scotch, Sarah and Marissa.  Oh…and did I mention that there will be Scotch?

 

Honestly?  I’m ready to just throw a taco at my father-in-law, hand him a Twinkie with a candle in it and call it a day rather than do this whole elaborate party and we can thank my newly blown the fuck up work load for that.  Then again, as my mom pointed out, I always have things explode at work when I’m in the middle of planning a large personal event.  Hell, I had to fly to New York the week before my wedding and do all the last minute preparations via phone/email/transcontinental screaming/carrier pigeons.

 

I’m sure the party is going to be fantastic and that we’ll all have a wonderful time, but right now all I want to do is throw on some sweatpants, crawl into bed and not come out until next week or possibly next year.

 

So, please excuse the lack of updates this week because I’m too busy fielding work crap, party crap and am suffering from on overwhelming urge to abuse prescription drugs.

I Is Wonder Puppy – Watch me Blog

Dear People of the Internet,

 

Please excuse that nice lady who feeds me from actually updating her blog today.  She is crazy busy trying to finish a work project which is being hampered by the fact that the new “daytime” pain meds are making her puke into a trashcan.  Or possibly her is dying of mutant stomach virus. Her is grumpy….and scary.  If you see her, throw a bottle of water at her and back away slowly.

 

Now…admire how cute I am:

 

 

Love,

Max the Wonder Puppy

Um… I Was Just Kidding About the Zombies! Go Away Now, Please.

Recently, there have been a truly alarming number of people who have found this blog by Googling some kind of variation of the following words/phrases:

 

• Zombies
• Zombie Apocalypse
• Apocalypse
• Jesus Zombie
• Zombie Boobs (I have no absolutely no explanation for this one)
• Zombie Anniversary
• Jesus Apocalypse (Nope, no idea)
• British Zombie Apocalypse (Again…not a clue)
• Was Jesus a Zombie (Yes, Yes he was)

 

Perhaps I should explain the whole “Talking about the Zombie Apocalypse on my Anniversary” thing.  No, I don’t believe the Zombies are coming, nor do I believe the Apocalypse is coming.  I was reading this book: 

Not only is it truly hilarious and original it actually brings up some terrifying points regarding epidemiology and these fucking horrifying things called Prions, but again, no…I don’t think the Zombie Plague is upon us.

 

Oh…and um…people at work…please stop Googling me.  It’s kind of a dead giveaway when you use the CANADIAN GOOGLE.  Actually, stop reading this blog right now…back away slowly from your computer before you loose any and all confidence in my ability to do my job.  Ya know…in case all my references to pinot noir, zombies, vicodin, my boobs and/or constant use of the word fuck didn’t already erode that confidence.

This Weekend Brought to you by the Letter V

So yeah…I pretty much spent this weekend in a Vicodin induced coma thanks entirely to the Knee of Doom.  And while not being able to get up to do something as simple as get a damn diet coke out of the fridge sucks ass, being waited on hand and foot is not the worst thing in the world. 

 

Oddly enough, however, my coworkers are not responding to my screaming for coffee by dropping whatever they happen to be doing at that moment and bringing me some damn coffee.  This is bad, because I have discovered that hobbling down the hall on crutches and attempting to bring coffee back to my office is not just impossible, but also results in 3^rd degree burns.  It is far harder than it seems to grip the Styrofoam coffee cup full o’ coffee with your teeth while using your hands to maneuver the freaking crutches.  This also results in massive coffee stains down the front of your shirt, on your pants and also a large stain on the carpet in front of the break room.

 

Another fun fact that has been discovered thanks to the Knee of Doom?  Every single pair of pants that I own have been tailored to be worn with heels, resulting in this pooling of excess pants material down by my feet since I am wearing flats.  Yes, you heard me correctly…I, Claudia Michele, am WEARING FLATS.  The shame and embarrassment is indescribable; may the baby jesus, Jimmy Choo and Manolo Blahnik forgive me.

 

Oh…and the “daytime” pain pills can totally fuck off, because they don’t work for shit and by the way….OUCH!  Now…someone please bring me some Vicodin….and some coffee.

 

 

 

Knee of Doom

Sorry to disappoint you, but no actual update today.  I know, I know, you’re all wondering why and cursing the universe/the baby jesus and/or the almighty Oprah for the lack of an update, but believe me, I have a really good reason.  Actually, I have two of them.

 

Reason 1 – I have the plague.  Well, okay…it’s not really the plague, it’s just a massive sinus infection, but it’s making me look like I have the plague and this is just not a good look for me.  Plus, my face hurts and that is making me extremely grumpy.  Also?  Making it impossible to actually touch my face, so putting on makeup was out of the question, so now I am ugly in addition to being miserable.

 

Reason 2 – My knee is angry at me.  Yes, this is the same knee that I have been putting off having surgery on for two years now.  It’s swollen all to shit, giving me this sort of “Why is that girl trying to smuggle a cauliflower in her pants” sort of look.  (okay, that sounded REALLY bad).  In addition to the very alarming swelling, there is some kind of crunching sound going on and it feels like there are Rice Krispies under the kneecap that are doing some horrible kind of snapping and crackling and popping thing that is very disturbing to me.  Oh yes, the knee is mightily pissed off and is showing me it’s displeasure in new and inventive ways.

 

The thing is…I have no fucking idea what I did to make it so angry.  I wasn’t doing anything all that strenuous last night, unless you count mocking Sarah Palin as strenuous.  Okay, on second thought, the mocking managed to reach levels that might be considered strenuous to your average level mocker, but I’m a professional here so that should not have done it.

 

All I know is that around 9-ish last night, I got up to go grab some water out of the fridge and holy freaking hell I almost passed the fuck out when I tried to stand up.  So, I did what any logical person would do and took two Benedryl and a muscle relaxer and figured that I’d just sleep until it stopped hurting.  At the rate this is going, I’m going to have to sleep until Christmas before the pain stops.

 

Thankfully, I am meeting the fabulous Sarah and Marissa for sushi and medicinal martini’s tonight, so that should help improve things greatly.  Unless of course, I get drunk and fall down, further injuring the already pissed off knee, which, if you know me at all, you realize is a fairly good possibility.

 

Updated to Add:  Back from the doctors and apparently I pissed the knee off worse than I thought.  Orthopedic Surgeon…Vicodin…Prescription Anti-Inflammatories.  The doctor actually said “Oh Shit” when she saw my knee.  Chances of knee surgery in the very near future look about 92.6%.

Fuck.

 

Dead to Me

Since I promised Nick that I would stop taking about the Zombie Apocalypse, I now have nothing to write about.  Okay, that’s not entirely true…I am just lazy today and inundated with a massive amount of work (apparently they were just taking it easy on me because I’m new).  So, rather than a proper entry that makes sense (and YES, I have written one of those…once…a long time ago) you get a random list of stuff that is now officially Dead to Me.  These items/places/people/whatever’s have totally pissed me off for one reason or another and they are now totally Dead to Me.

 

Plus, I get to use bullet points…which is good…because I am lazy.

 

• Crane’s Stationary (you bastards!!! You used to be all elegant and now you go and put shit with little ladybugs on it in your inventory).
• The fact that there is no damn Greek food in North Houston and I am sick of driving to Montrose.  All. The. Damn. Time.
• My husband’s apparent inability to run/empty the damn dishwasher.
• Wal-Mart and Macy’s putting up their CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!!  Hello?  It’s barely OCTOBER!  Let me at least get through the annual Thanksgiving drama-fest before you go and throw Christmas at me!
• Chanel – when the hell did you start letting CVS sell your perfume?  If you start letting them sell your makeup I will…um….I will totally have to buy it there since there’s a CVS less than a mile away from me, but I will be confused about it.
• Do I really need to once again express my sheer hatred for this never ending nonsense of calling anything that is put in a goddamned martini glass a martini?  No…there is no such thing as a fucking APPLE/BLUEBERRY/CHOCOLATE/SALMON MARTINI!  Martini’s are only to contain, gin/vodka, vermouth, a lemon twist or olive and THAT IS ALL.
• The weird Canadian guy in my office who mocks me for being an Ohio State Fan.  Seriously?  YOU’RE CANADIAN!
• Any fish tacos other than the ones that I make because they are vastly inferior.
• Having to very quickly turn down my iPod radio thingy whenever someone comes into my office because the last time my boss walked in, Trent Reznor told her that he wanted to fuck her like an animal.
• My bangs…holy hell do I need a trim…hmm…I have a couple of minutes; maybe I should call the nice people at Aveda now.
• The on-hold music when you call Aveda is Dead to Me.
• Grrr…need manicure also – dumb Aveda girl cannot figure out how to schedule two appointments for the same person even though they are totally different services.
• NO, Aveda girl, I don’t want to do my manicure at 10:00 and then come back at 1:00 for my haircut.
• No money with which to purchase Rise Against tickets.

 

Yes, this entry is pretty much bullshit, but I am suffering from a total lack of anything interesting enough to write about.  I’m thinking I should probably go out and do something extremely embarrassing sometime soon so that I have something to write about.

 

Oh…and disregard that whole thing about Nick not being able to empty/load the dishwasher, because he just sent me a picture of him doing exactly that  Damn psychic husband.