Monday, June 29, 2009

OMG! I live with a boy!

Dear Boy,

Last weekend you moved in with me. I know you think that at any moment I am going to lose my shit and stab you with a pen, but the truth is, this is really OK. It is better than OK. It is pretty great. And I know we still have a lot to work through, but we will.

However, you need to stop asking permission. Is it OK if I clean? Um. Fuck yes it is OK if you clean. In fact, I encourage it. Would you like more to clean? Because I am more than happy to make a mess for you to clean up.

Is it OK if I put my toothbrush in the bathroom? What about my electric shaver? YES. It is your house now too. Don't make me start fucking with you and saying you have to brush your teeth on the deck. Because I will do it.

I get that moving into someones space and routines is probably a little awkward, but you have to call me out on my shit. I'm like a toddler. I am totally testing my boundaries right now. Before you know it, I am going to start smoking cigarettes behind the barn at school and staying out past curfew.

And about the Mac versus PC war that is taking over the house...I like my Dell. You like your Mac. One is not better than the other - they are just different. Embrace this or prepare for me to stab you repeatedly with a pen. Ha! The fear is alive now, isn't it?

And, last, but not least, stop worrying about my crazy and start making this your home too.

I love you,


P.S. Hi Internet! Sorry about the lack of writing! It is all the boys fault. See how this works now? Awesome.

Thursday, June 25, 2009


Controversy or not, truth or lies, the man was a legend. "Man in the Mirror" still makes my top 100. He influenced a generation; he was a large part of my childhood and his music is a part of this country's history.

Rest in Peace.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Infested and Irrational

Today I was taking the trash around from the back of my house to the front of my house for pick up tomorrow. I opened the trash can to, you know, throw away trash, and IT WAS FILLED WITH COCKROACHES. I think. I have never actually seen a cockroach. But, I am pretty sure it was a cockroach.

So, I screamed, ran into the house and to the sink to wash my hands and ONE FELL OFF OF ME ONTO THE KITCHEN COUNTER. I sprayed it with the kitchen sprayer until it went down the garbage disposal, which I proceeded to turn on for, well, forever.

I immediately ran stripped off my clothes and jumped in the shower. I shook out the infested clothes outside and put them directly into the washing machine. I got out of the shower and called Big Jed to confirm that it was indeed a cockroach. The body was about the size of a Good 'N Plenty, it was flat, brown, and had approximately 10 million legs. She is my go-to bug crisis person. I also call her when I have to kill spiders by sucking them up in the vacuum. She laughs at me the whole time, because I am sure my completely irrational fear is hilarious. She was not laughing this time.

I then called the boy and just started sobbing. He also usually laughs at me, but said he would be over with bug spray. I explained that this was a good thing, because I was not leaving the house until the entire neighborhood cockroach population was eradicated.

I do not live in the city. I have never had a bug infestation of any kind other than ants twice, but even then they were not in the kitchen. I am generally a very clean person. And I realize that my garbage can is outside in nature where there are bugs. And I realize that this is in no way a reflection on my ability to keep my house clean. But, this fear - it is irrational and paralyzing and I want to douse my entire life in bleach and bug spray. I feel like clawing off my own skin.

I told the boy if I find one in the house, I am moving. I don't think he realizes I am serious.

UPDATE: They were waterbugs. Feeling stupid? Yes. Yes, I am. In my was on me.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Blow up Doll Anyone?

This weekend there is a community festival in town that I have never been to. Hannah Montana asked me if I was going and I said I wasn't sure, what was it like? At almost exactly that time, the radio mentioned (jokingly) that there was an acid tent. I said, oh, one of those festivals. About an hour later, the following IM occurred. I only changed the names.

Hannah Montana:
oh, I get it. . .you can be Debby Downer to me anytime you need to be
wow, that can be taken more than one way, huh
That will be the doll's name
Mine will be Acid Amy

Debby Downer and Acid Amy go to the Zoo!

Hannah Montana:
See Spot run

we can write an entire series of books
for kids

Hannah Montana:
. . ohhhh, seeee the spots

it will be awesome

Hannah Montana:
I am writing my resignation letter now

will you photo copy it and cross out your name and put in mine?
then I don't have to write one too

Hannah Montana:
i keep picturing blow up people on a string like a balloon floating around the festival

I am pretty sure you won't be the only one there picturing that....

Hannah Montana:
or seeing it

omg. we should totally fill blow up dolls with helium and then hand them out to small children.
I mean, not the ones that are gross
the funny ones
like you get at spencers
also, I just suggested corrupting the youth of the entire city.
I might be a bad person.

Hannah Montana:

If I was drunk, I would totally buy them.
I would think it was the funniest thing ever.

Hannah Montana:
it is funny
isn't it?

I think so...
we could poll the office

Hannah Montana:
no, they are not as funny as we are. .
they would not understand.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Grandma Goes to the Post Office

A little background: My grandmother has sent me a $100 check since the day I moved out of her house. I don't know why. I have never really asked, I guess. It's just one of those things. I have told her I don't need it, that she doesn't have to, but the check comes every month without fail. If I do not cash it within 5 days of her putting it in the mail, all hell breaks loose. Observe.

Erratic: Hello
Grandma: Did you get the check I sent you?
Erratic: No.
Grandma: This the second one in a week. You didn't get the last one did you?
Erratic: No. I got a page out of Reader's Digest about a pillow you put on your chair to help your back. That is it since you left.
Grandma: Your postman is robbing you.
Erratic: I am sure it is just a mistake or something wrong at the post office.
Grandma: Erratic (first and middle name) open your eyes. Your postman is robbing you.
Erratic: Have the checks been cashed?
Grandma: Well, no.
Erratic: Are you missing money in anyway?
Grandma: That is not the point. What if he is collecting them?
Erratic: To accumulate a mass fortune, $100 at a time?
Grandma: Stranger things have happened?
Erratic: I will call the post office tomorrow.
Grandma: Call me as soon as you hear. That postman should be fired.
Erratic: OK, I will
Grandma: What did you have for dinner?
Erratic: I used leftover pork to make pork fried rice.
Grandma: Did you have a salad with it?
Erratic: Yes.
Grandma: Good. You should really be drinking tomato juice.

I am buying her a case of tomato juice for Christmas.

Perhaps a fedora?

This is going to be random. Prepare for it.

I have recently been faced with several situations where I want someone to dislike me. These are relationships that are intertwined enough with people I care about that I can not openly express my dislike for the other person. However, they are in my life enough that I can't just pretend they do not exist. Therefore, I have decided to start some very bizarre rumors about myself. The people who know me will think, oh, that Erratic, always up to something. And they will love me anyway.

It's like that crazy uncle you have known all your life who does and says weird things that are borderline offensive and you just sort of laugh and walk away rolling your eyes. But, if you just met that crazy uncle? You would run. Far and fast. This plan is virtually flawless.

Here are a few examples of rumors I plan to start:
  1. I am a taxidermist in my spare time and have been known to pull over to grab roadkill.
  2. I eat my own hair.
  3. I have a crippling fear of radishes and will sob openly at the mere sight of one.
  4. I admit I misunderstood the term "neighborhood watch" but the restraining orders are a bit harsh.
  5. I am batman.
If I am ever forced to go out with these people, I will don strange hats and randomly grab people, shake them, and ask if they know where their children are. Then I will tell them where they can get free samples of food within a one mile radius. You laugh, but the last part actually happened to me once. At an outlet mall.

This should sufficiently scare these people off while having absolutely no effect on my everyday life. I am telling you - flawless.

Sunday, June 14, 2009


On the way home from the grocery store today, I was craving a Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper is one of my favorite things on earth and I try very hard not to drink soda. I mostly fail. So, I decided to run through a drive-thru and just indulge myself. I decided on KFC, it was the most convenient.

I have been to KFC MAYBE 10 times in my entire life. It just isn't someplace I eat. I pull up to the Muppet microphone and order a large Dr. Pepper. The guy asks me if I would like to upgrade to a mega for only 50 cents more. Sure! More Dr. Pepper. How could this go wrong?

It had a handle, much like you would expect to see on, say, a bucket you would take to the beach to build sand castles. CASTLES. You would not order a castle sized drink, would you? I placed the water bottle next to it as a reference to the gigantic size of the bucket 'o Dr. Pepper. Also, Colonel Sanders is creeping the hell out of me.

I drank about, 1/3 of it before the caffeine/sugar buzz took over and I switched to wine. Krackle and her daughter (Krackle Jr of course) came over, and she did not seem nearly as disturbed as I was by the sheer size of this fountain drink. I think that KFC is trying to take over the world. One bucket of Dr. Pepper at a time.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Family Feuding

I am obsessed with game shows. I love them. All of them. Except the new ones where nothing happens. Like Deal or No Deal. We get it Howie, it is all dramatic and exciting. TELL ME WHAT IS IN THE MOTHER FUCKING BRIEFCASE.

This actually happened - I thought to take a screen print after I typed it. I swear. I originally typed "try to kill you with it's mind" and it was too many letters. Which is why I only have 11 seconds left. I am a Family Feud master.


Over Christmas, my grandfather moved in with my dad and step mom. He is 84 and was getting to a point where he needed a little extra assistance with things like remembering to take medication, driving, eating healthy and exercising. Since he has been here, he is doing significantly better. He is lucid all the time and so much happier now that there are people around. There was a large part of last year where we did not expect him to survive until this Christmas.

Today, I got a phone call telling me that he was in the hospital. It may have been a stroke, but his heart rate was 40 and they couldn't get it stabilized. I was in the middle of a training session and got up and ran out. I sat in an empty cubicle, my entire body shaking. I was in complete shock and so scared, despite my dad's insistence that he would be fine.

I left work early, picked up the boy, and went to the hospital. He looked so fragile and old in that over sized hospital bed. He was eating lasagna when I walked in and immediately stopped eating because he thought it rude to eat in front of me. I told him he was being silly, to eat, he needed the energy. We sat and talked for a little while; about politics and work, and how he was feeling. He was so angry with my dad and step mom for missing an entire day's work to be there for him. Because he never wants to trouble you. He never wants to be an inconvenience.

It became obvious he was exhausted, so the boy and I left, letting him get some rest, promising to return tomorrow.

I guess you don't realize how fragile people really are, how close you are to losing people everyday. I am not a stop and smell the roses kind of person. But, today made me stop for a second. To stop and think about the man that has been my grandfather for my entire life. The man that loved my grandmother so much, he proposed on their third date. The man who slips me money every time he sees me, because he knows that most of my salary goes to bills, and he wants me to have a little fun. The man who got in a water fight with me on the patio of a bar, sending both of us home soaking wet and laughing hysterically. The man who spends an hour everyday laying out the newspaper and mail perfectly on the counter for when my dad and step mom come home.

He's going to be OK and be back to his old ornery self in a few days, sitting on the deck drinking Disarrono on the rocks and yelling at the golfers. I know that.

I love you Papa. Get better soon.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Pardon Me

Today was a weird day. It was one of those days where you wake up and think you are going to have a horrible day...and then it's not so bad. But, you feel like you are walking 2 steps to the left of everyone else. I will tell you about two of the things, because, seriously, there were about 12. One of which included a long conversation with a coworker I barely know about who does and does not smoke pot at work.

The day began with me almost getting run off the road. I was trying to merge onto the highway and a semi-truck started to come over into my lane. So, I honked my horn. The problem is that my horn is a complete pussy. Instead of "get the fuck out of my lane" it sounds like "pardon me sir, if it does not inconvenience you in anyway, would you mind not running me over and killing me?" And then you get run over and killed. Lucky for me, the person behind me realized my horn had the shock power of a teddy bear, so they honked, alerting the truck to the fact that it was about to kill me. OK, maybe not kill me...but at least run me off the road and risk the possibility of a flat tire. The horror.

A lot of weird shit happened in between.

I get home, after going to happy hour with some co-workers (and having the pot conversation), and there is this huge dog drama in the middle of my street. There was a guy with a doberman, a guy with a bull mastiff, and a girl with a golden lab. They were staged like this:

So, I can't get by because they are in the middle of the road and they all are glaring at each other. I assumed there was some sort of dog fight prior to my arrival. They finally move off to the side of the road, I drive by, and get out of my car. Then, I see Doberman dude go ape shit on his dog. He threw him to the ground and the dog started barking and snapping at him. (Duh! I would have too.) He has this dog pinned to the ground on his back and is repeatedly hitting it with it's leash and yelling "no." I froze. I just stood there astounded that this was happening in front of me. By the time I had regained my composure, he was walking away. If I knew where this prick lived, I would have called the police.

Instead, I went inside, gave both of my dogs a big hug and a rawhide. People are ass holes.

Also - my paint skills are fucking awesome. I should win awards for that shit.

And this post was kind of random. Just like my day. I felt it was appropriate.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Grandma: The After Show

I come home Saturday to the following message on my answering machine:

"It's your grandmother! (said in approximately the same tone as "it's your parole officer.") I haven't heard from you in a while and wanted to make sure you were OK. And I am bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. I tried calling everyone and no one is home. Call me back."

I did not call her back. Because I was working and crabby and was positive I would have tried to kill her with my mind through the phone. By Sunday, I had completely forgotten that she had called. About 9:00 pm, my phone rings and my TV (because, yes, my TV displays my caller id and it is AWESOME) tells me it is my grandmother. Shit. I answer the phone.

Erratic: "Hey! Sorry I didn't..."
Grandma: "Are you OK? Why aren't you returning my calls?"
Erratic: "As I was saying, sorry I didn't call you back. I was working all weekend."
Grandma: "How many hours did you work?"
Erratic: "About 20 this weekend, about 50 last week."
Grandma: "That's too many."
Erratic: ...
Grandma: "What did you have for dinner?"
Erratic: "Pizza. I didn't feel like cooking."
Grandma: "That isn't healthy. Did you have a salad?"
Erratic: "No, but I had garlic bread."
Grandma: "Erratic (she actually used my first AND middle name here) you are going to get sick and end up back in the hospital if you don't take care of yourself."
Erratic: "Pizza will not hurt my back. Promise."
Grandma: "Well, what if it does?"
Erratic: "You win. No more pizza."
Grandma: "Do you like tomato juice?"

We talked for about 10 minutes about why I should drink tomato juice. I will spare you the details. I get into work Monday morning and have an email from my mother that just says:

"Call your grandmother. She thinks you are mad at her."

I responded that I had already talked to her and was, in fact, not mad at her. I had been busy and forgot to call her back. My mother responds:

"Good. That woman is a loony tune. I swear I was adopted."

I could not agree more, mom.

Sunday, June 7, 2009


I can't talk about why my life is a living hell right now. I would love to tell all of you every gory detail. To post pictures and say, if you see these people, punch them in the face. But, it is work and I am just not that stupid. So, I am going to tell you another story of a bad day that, in hindsight, really doesn't look as bad as this past week has been.

In 2001, I was in a serious car accident. This was the beginning of my back problems and completely not the story I am about to tell. This accident resulted in 3 years of physical therapy and a fairly sizable lawsuit. I was driving north, and a woman pulled out in front of me. I was going 50 mph and the skid marks were less then 4 feet. They said I broadsided her going about 40 - 45 mph.

At the end of all this, I got a settlement check and decided to celebrate. Not the money - trust me, I didn't care about the money - but the fact that it was finally over. No more lawyers, medical bills, insurance adjustors, and guilt for what this poor woman was going through. I felt so bad for that law suit, but there was no other way to get my medical bills paid. I digress...

A friend and I decide to drive to the bank, deposit the check, and then go out and celebrate. So, I am driving down the road and the light in front of me turns yellow. I step on the accelerator slightly, although I would not have had time to stop. And what happens? Yes, you guessed it, a car pulled right in front of me and I broadsided them, with absolutely no time to stop. The difference, I was in a 25 mph zone and there was traffic. I hit him going, maybe, 15 mph. My airbags did not even deploy.

Lucky for me, there was a cop 2 cars behind me. Being the kind of person who babbles incessantly when nervous, the following conversation happened:

Cop: Ma'am, what happened here.
Erratic: OMG. He totally turned in front of me and I totally couldn't stop and this happened to me 3 years ago and I have the check in my purse from the settlement and what the fuck can you believe this happened again because seriously who is this unlucky. Do you want to see the check?
Cop: Um. No. The light was yellow when you went through it. Do you think you could have stopped?
Erratic: Maybe, I don't really know. It would have been a hard break, but, yeah, I probably could have without, like, tires squealing, but it still would have been a pretty short stop and there were people behind me and we were in traffic and I guess I really just don't know.
Cop: Um. OK. I am going to go talk to the other driver.

In the meantime, my friend is like, are you an idiot? You just gave that cop everything he needed to blame you for the accident. Which, I did. I cannot lie under pressure. I get nervous and it is like diarrhea of the mouth.

So, the cop comes back and says that they (there are now, count them, 5 cop cars) have decided to site the other driver. His car is not drivable because I hit his wheel well and bent the crap out of his axle. However, I was free to go. After swapping cars for hers, we headed over to $1 margarita night and proceeded to celebrate/ mourn. We weren't really sure what to do, so we alternately toasted the law suit being over and my poor, poor car.

Also, the bar tender bought me at least 3 drinks because, and I quote, "Nobody is that unlucky."

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Human Raft?

I was working for the same company that I do now, only I had just started. I wasn't very familiar with the area. I didn't have lunch with me and was going to run home and let out the dogs and grab some lunch. As I was leaving the building, it started pouring down rain. I ran to my car and started bitching about how I was wet. (that my friends, is foreshadowing)

I start driving the normal route home, only to realize that the street is flooded. So, I turn around and decide to take Broad Street to the highway. I turn right on Broad and the rain just keeps getting worse. I can hardly see. Then all of a sudden my car dies. In the middle of the road. I start to panic, when I see this conversion van sort of floating in the road. Huh. That is weird. I look out my window and see the water, about an inch above where the door and window meet.

Well, fuck. I start thinking of ways to get out of this, because, at this point, I am literally floating down the road. Then it occurs to me that I can climb out my sun roof. And what? Surf down Broad Street? This is not helping. I call my dad. Because, when floating down a road downtown, who would you call? He is no help, other than to tell me whatever I do, absolutely do not try to start my car.

All of a sudden I see two guys running out of Wendy's and waving their arms at me. I immediately think, well, fuck. What could they want? To save me! They started pushing my car out of the water and into the Wendy's parking lot. The water was above both of their waists. It was by far the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for me.

So, I get to the Wendy's and hero 1 and hero 2 tell me to give it a few minutes, that the engine will dry out and the car will start again. Okey dokey. So, I bought some food and sat down and ate lunch with them. Tried my car again. Nothing. Back in Wendy's to sit with hero 1 and hero 2.

Now, let me describe the scene for you. I am, quite literally, soaked through. My hair, my clothes, my shoes, everything I owned was completely soaked. It was freezing in Wendy's, so I am shivering and sitting and eating chicken nuggets with two guys with mullets and two teeth between them. I have everything in my purse laid out on the table because it had a puddle in it, which I am absorbing with napkins. And every time I get up and walk anywhere, I leave a trail of water.

So, I finally decide to call a tow truck. There was someone down the road who, shockingly, had just rescued a conversion van from the same street. They will be there in 15 minutes. Perfect. Oh, and they only accept cash. Um. Uh-Oh. So, I call my roommate at the time, Krackle, and ask her if she can meet me at the dealership with cash for the tow truck and I will pay her back. Sure she says. Call me when he gets there, she says.

Tow Truck gets there, I call Krackle. Now, I am riding in the tow truck with the driver. Who is by far the strangest human being I have ever met. I do not recall what he was talking about, but he talked incessantly. I vaguely remember something about pig farming and heavy metal. Let's just say I was sitting so close to the door, I was afraid I was going to push it open and fall out on the highway.

We get to the dealership and Krackle isn't there. And she isn't there. And she isn't there. About 30 minutes go by and I finally call her. She is still at work. She thought I was supposed to call her when I got there. She was a good 30 minutes away. And weird tow truck guy was getting impatient. So, I finally called my step mom and had her come pick me up. She took me back to their house, gave me some clothes, and some alcohol.

They were able to dry out the car for next to nothing and there was no damage. Except to my liver, because man did I drink a lot that night.

That day. That horrible, floating down Broad Street day was better than today. And yesterday. And most likely tomorrow. Can I trip over the dog again?

Monday, June 1, 2009

10 things I learned this weekend.

  1. I do not like Coors Light. What I do like? Free Coors Light. In fact, I love it.
  2. I am too old to drink for 8 hours straight in the sun without getting a hangover that could wipe out civilization as we know it.
  3. Stealing stranger's pizza is not nice. Also, it is embarrassing.
  4. Do not believe rumors about "free" pizza when the person who told you passed out on the floor moments later.
  5. Drunk early twenties guys fight a lot when they drink. Also, ass holes who are trying to break up the fight, shouldn't yell at the girl who is just trying to get by to pee.
  6. I shouldn't make friends with total strangers every time I am drunk. Because I am pretty sure that I slurred roughly all of that conversation.
  7. When taking a taxi home after 8 hours of drinking, when it is still light out, make sure the boy has his iPhone. Otherwise, there will be lots of drama.
  8. When taking the boy home the next morning, after 8 hours of drinking and passing out at 8:30 pm, make sure you have a key to your house. Hangovers make people forgetful.
  9. Remember when I was in the hospital 6 weeks ago? Right. I should probably not dance around like a fool because I am too drunk to feel pain. Remember that thing called tomorrow? Yeah. Tomorrow is going to suck.
  10. Getting drunk in the name of cancer? Awesome.