I'm back I think. Am I back? Oh hell, I don't know.

I write this post for several reasons. A) Brandon sassed me about not writing about whatever it is I write about, B) Liz asked nicely and C) I realized today what it must feel like to be insane.

First things first, quick recap. During the last year I have:

1. Gotten a job at a catalog company wherein I write and edit copy and manage marketing stuffs.
2. Moved into a new apartment which I'm renting from my parents. This means that my mother can scamper in there at any point in her day and she totally does. Just a few days ago I discovered two random lamps.
3. Watched a key to my apartment pass through my mother's hands and on to the plumber, AC man, two of her friends, and some guy named Rudy. It took me 3 weeks to get one from her.
4. Decided to apply to get an MBA. I'm not through yet and I'm rockin' the South. Just visited New York and though I love my peoples, I don't like dirty things.
5. Dated and dumped/been broken up with by two boys. Both lovely, attractive people, proving yet again that there IS something wrong with me. Take THAT, self-esteem!!
6. Gained a hippie hairstylist who believes that I'm naturally very intuitive. He wants to teach me how to swing dance. And read my chakras.
7. Officially become Amy's maid-of-honor, my highest goal in life. I strive to make her wedding day run smoothly and promise not to get drunk off my ass until 10 pm.
8. Bought a stocking for my pumpkin. His name is Edgar.

So that about sums that up. And I think #8 is a perfect place to start to explain my brush with insanity today. I decided today was the day I would finally get my father's birthday present, as well as gifts for my coworkers. As I'm typing this I realize I forgot one, which makes my left eye twitch a tiny bit, but I'll worry about that later. Post buying books and CDs, I moseyed on over to the café to purchase a life-affirming pumpkin spice latte and some holiday tea and encountered who I think might have been the stupidest employee I've ever met. Don't get me wrong, she was a real sweetheart and I'm not usually impatient so overall the interaction didn't bother me, but she did manage to mess up pretty much everything she could have. She also charged the girl behind for a random membership when all she wanted was mints, but I'll get to that later. As a result of her coworker having to remake everything the Blondie* had done, I had ample opportunity to stand and observe. It was a red-letter day. I tried to buy two tins of tea, she asked me if I wanted them hot (Me: "I don't get it..."). I try to buy a sandwich cold, the girl toasts it.

At some point some guy named Rick came over to correct a financial transaction Blondie had attempted (see above: mints v. membership). In that moment I was reminded of a skit on SNL I had seen with Amy Poehler where she plays a young girl with an uncle Rick (Horatio Sans). In the skit she makes this guttural scream of sorts trying to get Rick's attention, saying, "Rick! Rick! Rick! Riiiiiiiiiiiick!" I find this sketch very amusing and had an almost uncontrollable urge to mimic Amy's gut wrenching yell. I actually do it quite often, but you know, at home with my family or something. Never in public and never with a large group of strangers whom it would be impossible to explain myself to. And it wasn't the original impetus that worries me, it was the difficulty I had stopping myself. Even when I realized what it was I was doing, I almost couldn't block the sound. It was akin to being at a party and halfway through asking a woman when the baby's due, you realize she's just fat but you have to finish the statement. You know it's wrong but your mind's on autopilot. I think that must be how crazy people are, except without all the self-awareness and latte buying. To be honest, it might have been worth socially ostracizing myself for the shocked looks, but that doesn't make me insane. It makes me "eccentric". Stop judging me.

* Not a judgment, she really was blond. With lots and lots of electric blue eye shadow. Viva la 80s.

Best Phone Call Received This Month

Oh yes, my friends, all capitalized. So I rolled my ankle in soccer about a week ago and the little bastard hasn't gotten any better. I could blame the seven carafes of coffee I drink a day or the fact that my family is naturally at risk for osteoporosis or that I never really remember to take my calcium supplement. Or I could blame it on the fact that I have such delicate joints, but really that's not the point is it? The point is that I was prompted to give CVS a ring today to see whether or not they had ankle bracers. Too many times have their "medical supplies" spurned me. I don't know what they carry at that store, but I can tell you that it includes a hella amount of cough suppressants, toothpaste, and condoms. Fool proof strategy. Anyway, thought I'd check with the store before actually scampering over there to have my heart broken yet again by their version of "first aid". Aide. Whatever, you know what I mean. This conversation was short and sweet and ragingly hilarious to me, so much so that I actually told 3 other coworkers about it, all of who couldn't have cared less. So maybe you'll find it amusing:

Guy: "Hi you've reached CVS on Irving Blvd, Jason speaking."
Me: "Hey, do you carry ankle bracers?"
Jason: "Sure. What is it for?"
Me: "... ... ... Really? I mean, my ankle?"
JJ: "No no, do you want the flexible one or the one with the little sticks?"
Me: "Flexible."
J-man: "Please hold."
**a short time later**
Jay: "We have a few kinds that range in price from $18 to $18."
Me: "... Wow. Thanks for your help!"

And that was pretty much it. In other news, I am now heading up marketing for my company due to a medical leave of absence on the part of our VP of Marketing and Human Resources. Since I've never done it before and since this woman didn't write anything down, it's certainly been interesting, but for now it's not overly complicated since I've outright ignored the need for press releases and instead worked on sending out products and images for editorial "credit" (by which they mean vague acknowledgement, but to a magazine person it's like the Holy Grail). Today I got a request from a person named Mikki (pronounced "Mikey") who sounded like she was 12. I realize that Mikki/Mikey may not have seen our magazine, but she must know something about to have all of the requisite information. It was just an odd exchange because when she asked for the image, she asked for "preferably something professionally done, but I'll take a high res image".

Okay, if you are a CATALOG COMPANY you only have professional photos. Me taking my digicam out into the warehouse and shooting some dusty candelabra in an unlit corner just isn't going to cut the so-called mustard. Maybe I should offer her a high res crayon drawing done by a 6 year old, but little Billy was taken away by the feds when they found out we had been working him 15 hours a day and all of his little crayons were worn down to their stubby ends. And now I can't even remember what I was talking about.

Its like my own teeny plague

I know I haven't posted in a while, but I'm posting now out of desperation.

There is a fly in my office that is, and I'm not kidding about this, the size of a small cat. That bastard has been living in here and whizzing around my head for about a month now and I think I've finally reached the limit of my patience. He brought all of his little friends in last night and guess what? I opened up a big ol' bottle of pain with my Napa Style because it's the ugliest catalog I have ever seen and the man who owns it quotes himself. That's just ridiculous, but I digress. I thought I had gotten the ringleader too, but he's back and I think he's angry. Frankly, I'm frightened for my life and everyone is out of the office until tomorrow morning. Any suggestions on how I'm going to kill the biggest fly I've ever seen are welcome. In the meantime, I have adopted this strategy:

1. Scream like a little girl every time it comes within 5 feet of me.
2. Try to squelch screams to maintain my aura of professionalism.
3. Valiantly take a swing at it with my Napa Style, Harvest 2005 edition. Yeah, I'll "Celebrate the Flavor of Life", Michael. Jerk.
4. Return to crying softly over my lean cuisine because I have been out thought and out maneuvered by a fly for OVER A MONTH.