Things Amy Did This Week Instead of Sleeping

- Stayed awake.

- Covertly poked Jason with toes to see if he was really asleep.

- Stared at stupid cat that sleeps 22 hours a day and seethed with jealousy.

- Flipped pillow over to cool side approximately 80 bazillion times.

- Decided to try glass of warm milk.

- Burnt milk.

- Counted my shoes. (Not. Telling.)

- Haiku’d.

- Sent Chris annoying IMs of “Are you there? Are you awake? Huh, huh?” only to realize I was sending them to his cellphone because Trillian wouldn’t change his status to “mobile device” or whatever until AFTER I sent the IM. Fucking Trillian.

- Stared at buddy list and tried to subconsciously will somebody to log on.

- Checked email obsessively.

- Sent out delirious and poorly typed emails to people demanding that they explain this Rockchild individual to me because what the effing hell.

- Ate $5 low-carb peanut butter right out of the jar.

- Wrote things on Post-Its.

- Made note to steal more Post-Its from work.

- Thought about that guy I saw at that bar who was wearing a polo shirt with “Allstate Catastrophe Team” on it. Seriously? That needs to be put on a polo shirt?

- Pondered the return of the upturned polo shirt collar and how totally toolish it looks.

- Started exercise regimen of sit-ups and push-ups.

- Shelved exercise regimen.

- Looked up law school costs.

- Blacked out momentarily.

- Drank.

- Self-medicated.

- Wrote this entry.

- Forgot to change post status from “draft” to “publish.”

- Saved entry repeatedly in confusion.

- Checked site obsessively for missing phantom post.

- Muttered obscenities and decided I didn't really want to post this after all, so there.

- Realized mistake.

- Put head down on desk.

- Laughed like a crazy, crazy loonybird.

RANDOM THOUGHTS AMY HAD TODAY, PLUS MORE FROM THE POST-ITS IN HER PURSE

Once upon a time, this journal had A Point. I wrote essays. Fully-developed entries about a linear topic or storyline. My posts had beginnings, middles and ends.  I could do that thing where you conclude with a clever play on your first sentence or post title. I would even proofread sometimes. I could turn the world on with my smile.

In other words, A Point.

Will we ever see those days again?

Yes! I know it! I promise!

But not today. And probably not tomorrow either. Actually, now that I think about it, you should probably just forget I said anything.

See? Smaller today. Because I am no longer screaming it. Just repeating it softly to myself over and over and rocking slightly.

The big metal toilet paper/seat cover/wastebasket thing in Stall #4 in the ladies’ room is busted, just like the one in Stall #2. It kind of hangs open and makes getting paper off the roll really hard.

I never cared about Stall #2. Other people complained bitterly when the Stall Service Station broke and I was all, “Use another stall and shut up. Also, I don’t want to know which toilet you sit on.”

But now! I understand! Stall #4 was mine! It was a good location, was always well-stocked and had an interesting drain on the floor to look at and wonder if this bathroom ever used to be a locker room of some kind and then maybe imagine some kind of office women’s prison film or something.

Stall #1 is right next to the entrance of the bathroom, plus has a gap in the door that you can totally see through. Stall #3 is the favorite stall of the notorious toilet seat cover taker-and-putter-backer. Stall #5 is the handicapped stall and it’s just too big to feel comfortable in.

I am extremely distraught. Perhaps I shall just hold it all day.

While we’re on the subject of bathrooms, and before y’all totally leave in disgust because I am STILL on the subject of bathrooms, let me just tell you about the ladies’ room at my office.

It has a combination lock.

You have to punch four numbers in before you can open the door. FOUR. And it’s really low and hard to see. Originally, the combination was something absurd, like 7351. This caused such an uproar that it was changed to something easier. (Which I would totally tell you because I think it’d be hilarious to have people coming to my office and already know the secret bathroom door code, but my office takes Restroom Security very seriously, and I would get fired.)

The men’s room? No lock. No security. The men of my company? Can apparently take care of themselves better than us weak, delicate little vagina flowers.

Allegedly, we have the lock because we had a Restroom Security Breach at our old building. Some dude walked in, went into the ladies’ room and hid in a stall all day. He never talked or touched anyone. He just apparently got off on listening to women pee. Eventually, someone saw his shoes and he was discovered. 

That could just be one of those old publishing company urban legends though.

Number of special reports Amy has written this week: 7
Number of bitter, bitter tears Amy has wept in the process: 700
Number of drinks Amy will have tonight to celebrate: 7, because it’s only fitting

THE SORT OF SENTENCE THAT MAKES ME DIE A LITTLE INSIDE WHEN I WRITE IT:

These are high-quality growth stocks at value-stock prices!

So according to the Post-It Notes in my purse, I rode the Metro recently. And I was going to do a post about it. I don’t think I’m going to do a post about it.

But here are my notes for the entry I was going to write, but am now not:

There’s nothing like riding the Metro to trigger a full-blown case of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I feel itchy and dirty now.

That woman over there hasn’t snipped the white stitches holding her jacket pleat together.

That guy’s t-shirt tag is sticking out. And he has neck acne.

That guy’s low battery light on his laptop is flashing. Turn off! TURN OFF!

Someone “proofread” that anti-drug poster near the door. Except that they incorrectly changed “affect” to “effect” and “hypocritical” to “hypercritical” and inserted an unnecessary semicolon. I am dying to take my red pen to it. STET!

STET STET STET!

Dear god. Why do I even have a red pen with me right now?

Several Post-Its later, I wrote this:

“I seriously thought my eyeballs might already be on the floor. Am such a whore.”

I have no idea when I wrote that or why my eyeballs were on the floor. Ew. But props for rhyming!

FUN WITH OUT-OF-CONTEXT IM:

amalah: let’s run away and be mimes
rudecactus: hey amy...will you be mime?

Odds of Amy winning a Diarist Award, ever:  negative 3 plillion percent (%)

Wednesday Advice Smackdown

LET THE SMACKING DOWN COMMENCE.

MOMENTARILY.

BUT FIRST...

Oh, people. This week. And I mean people, this week. I was stuck at work until 8 p.m. last night and still, apparently, expected to come in again this morning. The hell? Bitch. Es.

Also a bitch: insomnia. I hate insomnia. Please send insomnia nasty hate mail at: bitchbitchbitch@amalah.com. Thank you.

But! It is not all horrible suckage! For it is Wednesday! Which means advice day! And y'all sent in really, really awesome questions this week. Not Blair Warner Autographed Birthday Gifts Awesome, but few things in life really are.

But what with this pesky "work" thing, I cannot devote my full attention to all the questions in all their glorious awesomeness all at once. So in true Smackdown format, I'll be answering questions one at a time, throughout the whole damn day. (Wow! It'll almost be like a blog or something!)

So this way, everybody wins! You'll get quality advice other than me saying things like: "HOW THE FUCK DO I KNOW? ALSO, GET THAT RASH CHECKED OUT."

Oh, and I'll get more hits from y'all obsessively checking in all day to see if I've posted another question. Because you will! I know it! YOU LOVE ME AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO EVERY DAMN WORD I HAVE TO SAY.

Well, what about if I promise to lay off the CAPS lock?

Question One, 12:36 pm

Dear Amalah,

Some fucktard plagiarized my online journal (http://keepergirl.diaryland.com).  As Queen of Everything, what sort of smackdown do you recommend, besides the pussy "plagiarism sucks" entry I already wrote?

Signed,
Pissed Off, but Really, What Kind of Idiot Plagiarizes You Then Adds You as a "Favorite"?

HOLY FUCK ALMIGHTY IN THE MORNING.

So when you said “plagiarized” (and mad props and loave for spelling it properly), I sort of expected to read about someone vaguely perpetratin' on your phraseology or something, much like I just plagiarized that from Coleen.

Or maybe read about one of those annoying RSS feed sites that tend to republish my entries under the category of “International Outsourcing Blogs” or “Today In Horticulture.” I hate those things.

But no. No! You have been plagiarized by The Crazy. The Crazy of all The Crazy. Five of your posts, lifted word-for-every-blooming-word, all in One Post of Mad Schizophrenic The Crazy.

Baby, I'm going to become a lawyer just so I can sue her ass and be all COPYRIGHT VIOLATIONS, bitch! Have fun in Federal Pound-Me-In-The-Ass Prison!

And then yes, you were added as a "Favorite Journal." It don’t get much The Crazier than that. I’m a little frightened for you. Hold me.

So. In terms of revenge. I think this column is a good start. I would link directly to The Crazy so she could see the smackdown she’s getting laid down wit’ at over here, but I am a chicken. Who is frightened of being seen anywhere need that whackjob’s referral logs. (I mean, I’ve already tempted the holy fury of Blaire Warner, child beauty pageants and The Crazy Who’s the Boss Fanart People.)

She would also probably plagiarize me, and I would cry. Perhaps she’d use this entry to talk about me being The Crazy. Maybe she lives in some parallel universe where this entry HAS ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN, BY HER, and it’s ME who is plagiarizing. Oh my god.

Question Two, 12:59 pm

Dear Amalah,

I think my boyfriend may be cheating on me. With a motorcycle. Do I need to get all scrappy and scratch up her paint? Whatever can I do?

Sincerely,
The girl without chrome pipes

I don’t know how to tell you this, but he’s definitely cheating on you. (Actually, I guess that’s how I would tell you that.)

You know how I know? Because the Haiku Smackdown told me. Just look at this picture we uncovered a couple weeks ago…

I’m very sorry about this. Especially since I’m going to have to go ahead and seriously insult your choice of décor. That bedspread is NASTY and that wallpaper border is a sin. And iridescent pink curtains? Are you on crack?

Unless this is a motel room, and then I’m just going to seriously insult your boyfriend. That bike deserved to be taken someplace nicer.

Question Three, 1:23 pm

Dear Amalah,

I have a stench problem.  Not me personally, but the new (old) house the husband and I moved into two weeks ago.

When we first walked the property, there was a faint odor of dog.  When we signed the lease papers and went back to see the property again, they had just finished cleaning the carpets.  The faint odor of dog was transformed into faint odor of wet dog.

I figured that I could get it out of the carpet with Febreeze© and this miracle solution that you can get at PetCo©. Alas, I have been Febreeze©-ing the shit out of this large house.  I have left candles going for neigh on 10 days.  I have sprayed that Miracle stuff until the bottle was empty.  I have vacuumed and begged and pleaded with the odor gods to leave the carpet that they inhabit.

Please help me.  That Heloise bitch didn't help me with my problem at all. Helpful hints, my ass.  She just complimented me on my new gray streak and laughed at my general malaise.

I swear, I keep flashing back to that skit in Kentucky Fried Movie where those three women come to that lady's door and say:

Lady one:   [sniffs the air] "Fish for dinner last night?"
Lady two:   [sniffs the air] "Is Harold still smoking those cigars?"
Lady three:   [sniffs the air] "Did a cow shit in here?"

Oh, and I have that song by the Black Eyed Peas, "Hey Mama" stuck in my head.  Please help!  La, la la la laaa.

Sincerely,
Stinky Sue

DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN YOU.

I totally had advice for you. I was all, "Oh! She needs to do X and use Y and then Z will totally fix the problem."

But now all I can think of to tell you are several variations on booty-shakin’, mama. I’m a beat masta blastin’ up the jamma, although maybe if you rent a steamcleaner from the grocery store and use some PetFresh© carpet powder, all the while shakin’ your bambamma, that might help the smell a little.

Question Four, 2:22 pm

Dear Amalah,

Aqua Teen Hunger Force...what the hell?

-Hudson

What? What’s not to get about a cartoon about the wacky animated adventures of a fast food value meal trio who apparently sometimes save the universe from evil but usually spend most of their time slacking around their house in the ghetto and getting on their next-door neighbor’s nerves?

Like this one time? Master Shake (he’s the milkshake) left food or whatever sitting out too long? So this benevolent blob of mold (Ol’ Drippy, they call him) comes alive and becomes Meatwad’s (he’s the hunk of hamburger) best friend until Shake eats him. (The mold, not Meatwad.)

Oh and they tend to get Carl, the next-door neighbor, hurt a lot. One time they blew off his foot and reattached it to his head. And one time Frylock (the box of French fries) made an experimental toilet prototype that blew Carl up. Except for his head, so he was okay.

Sometimes they get involved with intergalactic-type space scuffles with these pixel-ly little guys called the Mooninites and these other two-weird looking aliens who once lost their keys in a woodchipper. 

But mostly they just sit around and learn no lessons whatsoever. It’s awesome.

(And don’t even get me started on Sealab 2021. “My eye! What did you do to my eye! That was my last good eye!” Haaaaaaaa.)

In other words, you totally need to be high to watch these shows. I wish I was watching them right now.

Question Five, 4:34 pm

Amalah,

Why do I care about my fiance's ex-fiancee's wedding? Actually I probably know the answer to that one since I'm curious and competitive, both in large quantities. But still, it is advice smackdown day and the fact that I want to know about her still bugs me.

-Hudson

You want to know about her because you need to know what that bitch is UP TO. Mmm-hmmm. I mean, do you KNOW what she said about you?  Do you even KNOW?

No? Oh, yeah, me neither. (I am tapped, people.)

But seriously, I was the same way about my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. I wanted to know about everything. I mean, he wasn’t supposed to move on! I destroyed him! He was of no use to anyone, ever again! Who the FUCK is Sharon? Is she fat? Why does she not EXIST, at least according to Google?

But then one I time I Googled the ex and hit. The. Jackpot. Picture, autobiography, home address, etc. He’s a youth minister now. For his parents’ church (who haaaaaaated me). A Baptist church. He’s fat with bad hair and a butt-ugly dog. He signed his bio with "Peace & Love in Jesus." For real.

He gives his testimony, which is boring and does NOT involve him hitting bottom in a hotel room after a cocaine-and-hooker binge as he sought to fill the Amy-shaped hole in his heart. It involves vacation Bible school at the age of five and praying with his mom. For real.

Holy shit. I could have been her. Her! With the Proverbs and the Blessings and the daughter named Clancy. Holy shit.

Anyway, I bet your fiancé feels pretty much the same way about his ex, which is to say, “OH THANK YOU LORD FOR NOT LETTING THAT BE MY LIFE.” Perhaps one day you’ll Google her and laugh hysterically at her ugly wedding dress and her Website where she sells custom embroidered tissue-box covers. Blessings!

Question Six, 4:45 pm

Can anyone give me information on Cicadas in Arizona?  I am from San Diego (living in Arizona for the summer), and we don't have Cicadas.  My research has shown that they appear to come out only once every 17 years in certain parts of the country.  Here, however, i think they are yearly.  I know they aren't dangerous, but I am still afraid of them.  Any info would help, please email me at who_the-eff_do_I_think_Im_kidding@aol.com

Thanks!
Phil the Spambot or Just a Stupid Person

1) There is nothing to be afraid of, except for the killer cicadas, which I hear are crossing the Mexican border as we speak and headed toward Arizona. They will probably be in your area by…tomorrow-ish. Did you ever see “28 Days Later?” It’ll be something like that.

B) Congrats for being an intuitive little spambot that actually posted this comment to an entry about cicadas. You’ve come a long way since you left me the one about tranny porn on the post about my dad’s cancer, so thanks.

7) Also congrats on your “research.” Did you research the Cicadas on the Interweb? Using your very own computing thingamajig?

Egg)  HOW THE FUCK DO I KNOW? ALSO, GET THAT RASH CHECKED OUT.

Freaking Out By the Numbers

Gah. Gah. Gah. Gah.

That’s really all I can say right now.

In fact, let me say it a few more times.

Gah. Gah. Gahgahgahgah.

Work has totally just exploded all over the place. Everywhere with the work.

Next Monday I have seven super-special reports that must go to print. That I must write. Me, alone, with my own words. SEV. EN.

These super-extra-special reports are all about stocks and stuff, which means that I may also have to do math with numbers along with the writing of words.

So I kind of had numbers on the brain when I wrote this entry. I also kind of wrote this entry in short 30-second bursts over a period of two days. I apologize in advance.

Haaaaaa. Isn’t that funny? It’s totally funny. And functional!

Dudes, I totally never talked about my Saturday night dinner with Chris and Beth Cactus. Well, it was so long ago that I kind of forget everything. This is what I remember:

Number of times Amy changed her outfit before Chris and Beth arrived: Four
Number of times Amy changed her outfit after Chris and Beth arrived: One

Number of gifts Chris brought for Amy: Three
Number of gifts Chris brought for Amy that were reality TV star porn home movies: One
Number of gifts Amy had for Chris: Zero

Number of cabs in the entire freaking city when you really need one: Zero
Number of cabs per square inch when you are going out after company has left: Seventy billion and two

Number of Google hits amalah.com will get for “reality TV star porn home movies”: Seventy billion and three.

Number of lip glosses amalah.com readers admitted to owning: 37

Number of nickels Amy put in the vending machine yesterday to get some lunch: 17

My only options were ramen noodles or some new low-carb meal replacement thingie that cost two fucking dollars. But the noodles were shrimp (RANDOM FACT: Amy is allergic to shrimp so please don’t feed them to her, for she will die.) so I went with the low-carb thingie. Um, ew?

Number of minutes until Amy was hungry again after eating low-carb thingie: .28473

Number of nickels Amy has for lunch today: 0

Number of misplaced apostrophes Amy has found this week: 48

Number of super-duper-extra-special-with-a-cherry-on-top reports Amy wrote on Monday: 3.5
Number of days Amy has been waiting for someone else to do the second half of that other one: 4

Number of blah-blah-blah-special reports Amy wrote today: 1, sort of

Number left to go: 3.5

*weeeeep*

Number of times Amy has listened to her new Carbon Leaf CD: 482
Number of times it took Amy to memorize the whole thing: 1

(RANDOM FACT: Amy has a photographic memory, but only for things she hears. A photoauditory memory? This really only helps for CD lyrics and Simpsons episodes, because Amy doesn’t really pay attention to much else.)

Date Jason told Amy was the date of the Carbon Leaf concert: July 13, 2004
Date Jason thought was the date of the Carbon Leaf concert: July 12, 2004
Actual date of the Carbon Leaf concert: July 17, 2004

Number of amalah.com readers who should buy the dang CD already: Seventy billion and four

Number of times Amy has considered a career change since Monday morning: 324

I think I want to be a lawyer, y’all. Like, for real. Can someone tell me how I become a lawyer? Is it hard?

Number of posts at amalah.com, including this one, right now: 200
Number of comments at amalah.com, which are totally skewed because of the Haiku Smackdown, but still: 2,350
Number of weeks we're behind on Grand Master crowning: 3
Number of hits amalah.com has gotten since November 2003: 52,040
Amount of faith Amy has in that number: Negative seventy billion and five

The Inner Sanctum, Cont'd.

DUN.....

DUN.....

DUN.....

DUNDUN!!!!

(insert timpani-type-banging here)

Yes, this is my make-up case. And this is its story.

I have a lot of cool stuff in there. Like this Tarte cheek stain, which is sort of like a big jellified crayon for your face and makes your cheeks look all rosy instead of that fish-belly death-white color they usually are. You kind of look like you've been standing at a bus stop for awhile on a windy day. And it only cost $26.

I also have this Tony & Tina Herbal Eye Base stuff, which is perhaps the greatest innovation in neutral-colored cream-type stuff ever. You put it on your eyelids before your eyeshadow and it keeps the shadow from smearing or doing that funky eyelid-sweat thing. I keep a travel-sized version in my purse in case of herbal eye-related emergencies. (No, actually, it works as a totally kick-ass concealer too.) $22.

Ooh!  Ooh! This stuff is fun. It's my Urban Decay Menage a Trois set of body glitters. Lickable body glitters, y'all. Heh. It's awesome because it's trashy. But because it cost $38, it's like, upscale trashy. (My sister bought me these for Christmas, along with my Care Bear days-of-the-week underwear. Which are thongs, by the way, to answer the burning question many of you just HAD to ask. Care Bear cotton thongs with sparkly waistbands. I am wearing Sunday's pair today, but under protest because of the aforementioned Cheer Bear/Funshine Bear conundrum.)

Anyway.

Time to move on to The Gallery of Regrettable Products, Volume II.

I went through a phase when I wanted to be all natural and dewy. So I bought clear mascara. What? You put it on and it looks like...you didn't put it on. Brilliant! At least brilliant of Sephora, as they got me to hand over $8 for a tube of nothing.

Also from my dewy phase: Revlon Skinlights "Face Illuminator."  I'm pretty sure this was bought at a late-night drugstore on a munchies run. It's supposed to make your face shiny. And it does. You get a healthy, natural shine -- similar to the shine you could get after a long night of sleeping on a pillow of French fries. Cost? No idea, although I do remember there was some kind of two-for-one deal on Doritos at the same store that night.

Dude, step AWAY from the purple. Especially glittery purple. I distinctly remember buying this after the first Charlie's Angels movie came out. I also bought purple sunglasses with a little rhinestone heart on the one lens too, so I was obviously quite deranged. Luckily, this is by Maybelline, so it was probably $3 or something. Still not the 99-cent bargain that is the Wet N' Wild Clearance Bin, but still.

This stuff is called "eye polish." I still don't know what it is. When I tried to wear it? I sort of looked like that woman from the Drew Carey Show with the crazy makeup. It also made my eyelids STICK to themselves whenever I blinked. So good thing I went ahead and bought TWO of them.

The single worst lip gloss purchase ever made. And, as you'll in just a moment, I've purchased quite a few. This color, while a lovely wine-ish shade in the tube, goes on magenta. And smeary and sticky and uneven and guaranteed to end up all over your teeth and in your hair and to make you look like the opening credits of the Rocky Horrow Picture Show.

(And I wasn't kidding about the glosses. Here's my collection of glosses, balms and other assorted Things That Make Your Lips Shiny, because non-shiny lips are ugly and un-sexy. And even though I just took this picture this very morning, it is out-of-date because I bought yet another lip gloss at the grocery store today. But it was in the Wet N' Wild 99-cent clearance bin! And look! See how I'm almost out of that Chanel one in the center? That one costs $27. I'm cutting back! I'm behaving!)

(I also lined up my lipsticks for a group shot, but it was too horrifying. 19 tubes. I wear maybe two of them.)

Aaaaannnnddd...that's pretty much about it. Oh, I could go on and on about my really nice Sonya Kashuk brushes that I treat like shit and all my little tubes of sparkles and the bottomless black hole at the bottom of the case, but I won't, because I am sick to death of uploading pictures. And sick to death of this post, actually. I mean, what's next...a photo essay about my sock drawer?

Well, now that you mention it...

Best Weekend Plans Ever

Two posts in one day! Can you even stand the excitement? But I just HAD to write again to tell you about my awesome plans for the weekend.

BUT FIRST, ONE LAST THING ABOUT THE WHOLE DRUNK THING:

So at lunchtime today, I drove to Starbucks for caffeine and that little antipasto lunch-pack thing they sell, because I was craving some kind of salty lunch meat and really didn’t want to go to the grocery store and end up buying a package of bologna and eating the whole thing before I got to the checkout aisle because that’s totally what I would have done.

What? Oh right. Driving to Starbucks. Hideous, hideous sunlight. A pothole that very nearly killed me. The soothing sounds of Sarah MacLachlan in the CD player.

Park, walk to store humming the song I was just listening to. Enter. Am suddenly aware that I can hear the exact same song playing. Just barely, but I can’t seem to make it stop. I panic and think, “OH MY GOD I AM STILL DRUNK. MY EARS ARE RINGING AND I’M HEARING PHANTOM MUSIC.”

Stricken, I move slowly to the food display and pick out my lunch, trying to look sober and collected. I go to the cashier and order one of the new Light Frappaccinos instead of the orgasmically fantasticular Strawberries & Crème one, because after all this weight-loss bragging I have done, I cannot gain back a single ounce before JournalCon.

Suddenly, I realize the cashier is SINGING THE SAME SONG. She stops when she sees me looking at her, as I imagine I really did look marshmallow toaster I am the walrus-type crazy at this point. I also looked like shit with the aforementioned tote bags under my eyes. But still. I tried to explain.

AMALAH: Heh. I was JUST listening to that song in my car. What a coincidence.

CASHIER GRRL: You mean the song that’s playing now?
CASHIER GRRL: *points at the ceiling*

AMALAH: *stares dumbly at the ceiling as the revelation dawns on her verrrrrry, very slowly that she is not insane, but still very stupid*

CASHIER GRRL: Here's your change. Now get the fuck out of my store.

ACTUALLY NO, HERE'S ANOTHER THING ABOUT THE DRUNK THING:

From an email I wrote to Samantha, regarding Wiccan bumper stickers and keeping Post-It Notes in your car...

The problem with writing on Post-Its in your car is that 1) It's dangerous. 2) They're very sticky. 3) If you use your steering wheel as a writing surface you tend to honk the horn accidentally. 4) You end up with notes like this:

(actual transcription of my notes)

Wiccans + bumper stickers
dragons, good men, etc.
back OFF goddess
Ameriwiccan
Walk ancient ones
Harm None

Not exactly very helpful. Except when you're drunk. Then they apparently make perfect sense.

AND WHAT THE HELL, WHILE WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT OF READER CORRESPONDENCE:

A conversation with Meli regarding Care Bear underwear and this trainwreck of a site she provided and for which I loave her now...

AMALAH: That site is going straight on my blogroll of The Crazy. *shudder* Maybe I should send her pictures of my panties?

MELI: I'm thinking that either her or the boyfriend would like that a bit too much. Then it might go from crazy to stalker... She is old enough to know the original Care Bears though. I was wrong about that. She's also old enough to know better than to build a website like that.

AMALAH: She is also wrong about Funshine Bear, whom she says is a girl. All my readers assure me Funshine is a boy, and my readers are always right. So there, Krazy Kare Bear Kook.

AND BACK TO THE DRUNK THING AGAIN, BECAUSE WHY NOT:

MINDY: Amy, why you no love me on IM?

AMALAH: AM HWERE bur missed you. send messages to no avail. sad now. pout. cry. maybe weep a bit. also druuuuunk.

AND NOW, YOUR ACTUAL POST TOPIC:

Dudes! Jason and I are having dinner tomorrow night with both Mister AND Missus Cactus. Aren't you so jealous now?

THE END.

Things That Are Making Amy's Head Hurt Today

(Ahem. A little background, if you must know.)

1) Light.

2) Air.

3) That shirt you are wearing.

4) That relentless, infernal "breathing" thing you insist on doing.

5) The fact that there was, apparently, a seven a.m. this morning.

6) The mental energy I have spent pondering my underwear.

7) No, for real. Because why does the Care Bears days-of-the-week panty for Friday have Funshine Bear on it? Shouldn't Funshine Bear be on Sunday's pair? Because he has a sun on his tummy? Sunday's pair has Cheer Bear on them, which would make much more sense on Friday, because you cheer "Yay, Friday!" on Friday.

8) Also the amount of anguish typing all that caused me because I'm thoroughly confused about whether a pair of panties should be referred to as singular or plural. It/them? Has/Have? What?

9) My looming four p.m. print deadline for this damn newsletter that has been in production for SEVEN DAYS and I am still finding misplaced apostrophes.

10) Also, is Funshine Bear a he or a she?

11) How loud my car radio came on this morning when I started the car.

12) That girl who is SUPER CHIPPER and positively SHRIEKED "Good Morning!" at me this morning. Oh my god.

13) This guy on the phone right now who is responsible for all the misplaced apostrophes in my life and who is totally fishing for compliments about his writing.

14) My own damn chirpy telephone voice.

15) The plight of Zoot and her paranoid fucktard of a boss. And how many times I keep going to email her things because I'm stupid.

16) The mortgage calculators at Realtor.com.

17) How badly I want this one house and how afraid I am that it will be sold long before we get to look at it.

18) My ponytail. Or possibly my hair follicles. I can feel them growing. Ouch.

19) The number 19.

20) The word "contrarian." Shut up, word.

21) The nagging suspicion that I will never write anything as funny as that last post ever again and people will just leave comments like, "Hey, remember that drunk post you did? You should do more like that." And I will sacrifice my liver to keep y'all entertained and end up dead in a ditch of alcoholism like Edgar Allan Poe or whoever that author was who ended up dead in a ditch of alcoholism.

22) The fact that I wrote "dead in a ditch of alcoholism" instead of "dead of alcoholism, in a ditch" twice and could not sum up the energy to fix it.

23) The bags under my eyes. Nay, the shopping bags under my eyes. Nay, the shopping CARTS under my eyes.

24) The number of times I have used the phrase "the fact that" in this post.

25) The fact that this stopped being funny 17 numbers ago.

days of wine and fucking roses or whatever

haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Guess who's a little bit drunk, bitches.

GO ON, GUESS.

So first of all, I loave wine,. And also Futurama. TiVo these reruns, like, for real. I did not realize how brilliant this show was until this very minute.

Second of all, guesss what. We're moving!  Maybe. We're going to buy a house (and no, for real, A HOUSE) in the ghetto/murder/kill part of our beautiful nation's capital. Or is it Capital? Capitol? WEhere the fuck is my AP Style Guide?

Anyway. Jason is sitting here going through seventy billion realtor.com printouts of houses right now and there's this one? I totally want to make out with. Yes. I want to make out with a house. Because it's beautiful and has a porch and a two-car garage and a fucking WHIRLPOOL and a fireplace and is just so cute I want to put it in my pocket.

If I had pockets, which I don't right now, for I am wearing this French Connection skirt that hasn't fit since the day after I bought it that NOW FITS and MY ASS IS AWESOME PEOPLE. It;s like a size 2 or something. And by "something" I mean a size 4 which is probably a size 8. But still: AWESOME.

Am skinny and hot. Because of the South Beach diet. And also because of The Crazy. But am calling a doctor tomorrow to get new Crazy Pills I swear. (HJi Mom!)

Also: duuuudes. Other thoughts I'm having right now:\

1) Max is so fucking cute he is BREAKING MY HEART.
2) Especially since I know if we move to murderville Northeast DC I will need to buy a big dog and Max? Will fucking hate that.
3)Maybe Zoot will give me her new dog? Becuase OH MY GOD. That is the cutest dog ever.
4) And Zoot will totally want to give me her dog once she gets the birthday gift I sent her, because it is AWESOME.
5) i WAAAAAAANT THAT DOG.
6) Whoops. Caps lock.
7) My birthday is not until December 27th but I would accept giofts anhytime. Check the fucking About page for ideas
8)I am getting drunker by the minute.

Anyway. That is all that I am thinking of. Except I am also thinking of this Izuzu Rodeo I was behind at this one long red light today? Which had like, ten bumper stickers on it? That were all Wicca-related? And I totally wrote all the bumper stickers down on this little stack of Post-OIts in my purse while at a red light. Becuase I like to keep notes for possible amalah.com entries and apparently I was seriously considering writing a post with some "Didja ever notice how Wiccans have so many bumper stickers on their cars?" or some such total NONSENSE or whatecver.

Anyway. The one bumper sticker I saw today said "I'm an AMERIWICCAN." And another said, "I BELIEVE IN DRAGONS, GOOD MEN AND OTHER MYTHICAL CREATURES." wHICH WAS KIND OF SEXIST WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT. whoops. CAPS lock again.

Anwya. Wiccans need cleverer bumper stickers. I would think of some right now becuase I am totally clever enough but I can't right now because I'm drunk.  Also tehere's another Futurama rerum on now. Fuck all y'all.

Serenity Now, For Real

To: Self
From: Same
Re: Tuesday’s Little Tirade

You suck at dark comedy. Don’t ever try it again.

While it’s always kind of fun to watch someone come unhinged and sort of implode all over their journal, YOU don’t want to be that person. And you are not that person.

(I have a whole secret blogroll of just sites that have The Crazy written all over them. And you all know what I’m talking about, right? They’re the bloggers who throw tantrums, design all-black skins one day and then fluorescent pink clip-art of angels the next complete with an animated fairy-dust cursor the next. They’ll delete their entire archives one day and then wail and moan about trying to recover them for the next week.  Then they might change their blog’s name to “ASHLEY IS A SLUT BITCH AND I HATE HER.”  They post a lot of poems and song lyrics that get increasingly bizarre and scary and then one day there’s a post that just says “toilet seat gas oven with a toothpaste sandwich I am God.” And then the next day it’s all Page Not Found. Those sites are awesome.)

But that is not this site. So the next time you bang out a slightly manic-sounding post hurridly before lunchtime that you think is funny in a pretend-crazy-morbid way, please remember the following rules:

1. You want people to laugh, not stare gaping at your site while pushing slowly away from their desks and then running off to hug their children.

2. Having someone refer to your post as “psychotic” is also not what you’re going for either.

3. Scaring the HOLY LIVING CRAP out of your mother via the Internet? Not priceless. Mean. And Bad.

4. If your comments have the tone of an entire group of people trying to talk you down off a ledge, you’ve probably gone a little too far.

5. Suicide via letter opener is NOT FUNNY. Someone’s sister’s roommate’s uncle totally died that way.

Although, I did like Sheryl’s recommendation that I post my Amazon wish list somewhere on the site so when readers DO think I’ve completely lost it, for good and official-like, they’ll know what pretty things to buy me. So it’s on the About page now. And it’s sooo the wish list of a sane and balanced person, with the exception of the 12-guage and the 350 rolls of aluminum foil. Those I need for personal reasons that cannot be revealed at this stage of the moon cycle.

Ha! See? That was a joke. Look, here’s a smiley face: :-) 

Smiley faces are totally the sign of sane and normal people on the Internet.  For I am not The Crazy. Not quite yet, anyway.

But I’m sure you’ll read about it here first.

The Wednesday Advice Smackdown Spectacular!

Or, Meltdown? What Meltdown?

Um, hi! Welcome to today's Festival of Fake Advice. What? Oh, I'm fine, really. Just a little too much caffeine yesterday, I think. What? Oh, this is a Tylenol. Yeah, well, two Tylenol then. Isn't that what you're supposed to take? Why are you looking at me like that? Stop patting my head! I'm FINE! Jeez. I don't WANT to go in the nice man's car to go for "observation" or whatever crap you just said. No! I won't go! Chief Bromden! Pick up that sink! Put down that pillow!

Dear Amalah,

Why do I hate Jena Malone so much?

-bmh

Ummm…I don’t know, really. Because she spells Jena with just one “n”? That’s kind of annoying. She was in Donnie Darko, which was a really good movie, but she was also in Stepmom, which was really stupid. And while I haven’t seen Saved!, she looks kind of greasy in it and seriously, movies need to not put exclamation points in their titles. It’s annoying. Also, according to the IMDB, in 2000 she won legal emancipation from her mother, who is now barred from interfering with her career and earnings. Well lah-dee-fricking-dah.

But this really isn’t about Jena, is it? This is about YOU. This is about your own dreams of stardom and making out with Jake Gyllenhaal. This is about you losing the lead role in Bastard Out of Carolina to Jena, even though your emotional range ran CIRCLES around hers. Circles! This is about your obsession with Jason Bateman’s hair.

Or you just might hate her because you heard that she’s been cast as Lydia Bennett in yet another fucking remake of Pride & Prejudice, which will star fucking Keira Knightley as Elizabeth, and I really, really hate Keira Knightley.

Amy,

I recently stumbled upon THIS LINK on someone's blog who shall remain nameless so that she will not be associated with my sickness. Now? I cannot look away. I promise you, Amalah, I very rarely ever watched The Facts of Life. I didn’t want the good OR the bad from that show. But for some reason? I can NOT stop reading about Blaire and her thoughts on Homeschooling. Or how she coped with
a child with ADHD. Why? Why can I not look away. How do I make myself quit going back to that site? What is the reason behind my obsession with this site? Help Me.

Signed,
Future Blaire Stalker.

You are obsessed with this site because it is Awesome. Awesome with a capital A. It is the most Awesome site in the history of Awesome.

Why is this site so Awesome? Because there is a BUTTON for you to CLICK ON if you want to accept JESUS INTO YOUR HEART. This is ministry for the 21st Century, people.

Her children are named Tucker, Haven and Clancy.  The last two? Girls. Yeah.

Tucker is starting to date, but not really, because Mom warns Tucker that all girls? Are HARLOTS who want to SEX HIM UP.

Yes, oh yes:

Proverbs 7 – The Gospel According to Mom - Complete With Verse Annotations

1 My son, keep my words and if you value your life,
2 Keep my commands. My law is the law, don’t ever forget it.
3 Tie a string around your finger or tattoo it on your heart.
4 Say to wisdom, “You are my sister” and call understanding, “Mom”
5 Listen to your mother and sister for they will keep you away from the girls.
6 For from my minivan I looked through the window,
7 And I saw a bunch of junior high boys
And one naïve young man, in particular.
8 Passing along the street near the mall;
And entering through Sears,
9 just after dark, before all the stores closed.
10 And there a girl met him,
Wearing a shirt that revealed her belly button and her heart.
11 She laughed way too loudly and she was rarely at home with her parents.
12 She seemed to turn up everywhere, at the mall, the movies,
hanging out at friend’s houses.
13 So she playfully hugged the young man and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek.
“With a spunky look she said to him,
14 “I just came from youth group and I played the part.
15 I was hoping to see you there and when I didn’t see you
I came looking for you. I’m so glad I found you.
16 I have fixed up my room really cool.
17 I bought a bunch of good smelling stuff from Bath & Body Works.
18 Why don’t you come over and we can watch some videos and make out.
19 My parents aren’t at home, they are away on a business trip.
20 They won’t be back until Tuesday.”
21 With her convincing innocence, he bought it.
All it took was, “I’ve never met a guy I can talk to like you before” and she had him.
22 He fell for it, hook, line and sinker.
23 Till he felt the hook in his mouth.
As a fish swimming for the worm,
He didn’t know it was a trap until it was too late.
24 Now, listen up kids, and listen up good.
I know what I’m talking about:
25 Don’t even look down that path.
If you don’t want to end up where the road is headed
Then stay on the sidewalk.
26 Girls have been the fall of many a strong Christian young man.
They can lead you away from God and you could end up losing your life – at least the abundant one God has planned for you.

See? Awesome. Trainwreck Awesome. Please pass on this wisdom to your child, lest he be tempted by a young succubus in a shirt that reveals her BELLY BUTTON and who smells like SUN-RIPENED RASPBERRY lotion from BATH & BODY WORKS, and then he’ll be led down a path of sin and sex and French kissing. Damn these sexy females! Put them in burkas!

Now if I remember any of the similar lessons I sat through at my Christian high school, this is a full-proof plan for teenage rebellion and pretty much guarantees that while they’ll still definitely have sex, they’ll just do it without a condom because YOU KIND OF LEFT THAT PART OUT OF THE SEX TALK.

But I wasn’t homeschooled, which is probably why I am a dirty sinner in a belly shirt who laughs too loudly and likes to make out with my husband.

Dear Amalah,

I am currently living with my grandmother for reasons not needed right now. It's been really great getting to know what she's like other than major holidays, but something's come up that has made it more difficult. Specifically: The woman's damn addiction to real-life crime dramas, fictional crime dramas, and every CSI-like show on the television airwaves. I love me some Law and Order sometimes, but not three episodes every night. Help!

-Coleen

Oh man, I feel your pain there.  My grandmother used to watch the Food Network 24 hours a day. Which, like you said, I’m all for in small doses, but Jesus Christ, how much Bobby Flay can a person take? And we’re talking pre-Iron Chef Food Network when both of the Fat Ladies were still alive and cooking lard-based abominations every damn day.

It was interesting because my grandmother never cooked and lived mostly on hot salsa and bacon. I was always going through her refrigerator to throw out uncooked pork chops from three years ago or to chase the container of milk that had become sentient, grown hooves and turned feral in the vegetable crisper.

But the thing is, you cannot mess with the elderly’s television. This one time? I kind of told her that Emeril’s show wasn’t really filmed “live.” There was an audience, sure, but he really wasn’t in the studio at 10 am on a Tuesday morning whipping up his Kicked Up Beef Stuffed With Essence Of More Beef right that very moment.

I was very nearly cut out of the will for this.

So unfortunately, you’re kind of stuck with the 24-hour Crime Drama Network of Gran. Until she dies, of course, which is so very evil of me to bring up at all but seriously, weren’t you just waiting for me to go there?

All the crazies out there are encouraged to send their crazy questions to advice@amalah.com and I will give you crazy answers. Or, if I'm feeling kicky, krazy answers.