Excuse Me
First, a small matter of housekeeping. I talked to my neighbors, and apparently we were one of the only people who didn’t sell out on our candy this year, which is infuriating and also, may be because we had a giant blue penis in the window. But in my defense: really? Does it still look like a penis, even when not illuminated and also, face-first? Scroll below for reference, if you need to. I can wait. Also bear in mind that this picture is really pointless, since it was dark and also illuminated during the entire time. So yes, it probably looked like a penis. But humor me.
Ignore the vast perfume collection behind it. I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but I have a serious problem.
Secondly, I endured what was possibly the worst self-inflicted humiliation of my life today when I called a woman named Lillian Blendenheimer (not really, but close). The conversation went something like this:
(male voice answers the phone) “Hello?”
“Hi! This is Jonniker, I’m looking for Lillian Blendenheimer!”
“*mumblesomething* husband *mumblesomething*”
“Oh! Right! Of course. Well, do you know when your wife will be back?”
” Uh yes. Right here.”
*confused*
“OH! You mean your wife is there? Take your time! I can wait!”
“No, I mean I AM THE WIFE. This is Lillian.”
“Oh! HA! Well, hello, uh, Lillian!”
And then I died, only to be revived with the thought that listen, at least I’m not Lillian, because there is no way that Lillian is not a man. But I am also quite distraught at my own stupidity, and let’s all thank God the call wasn’t professional.
And finally, it should be noted that I’ve eaten no fewer than 15 Reese’s peanut butter cups with caramel, and I guess I’m wondering where they’ve been all these years? Peanut butter and chocolate is brilliant, but peanut butter and CARAMEL is an entirely different issue altogether, and is somewhere in the range of fantastical. But you know what’s sad? I’ll keep on this candy bender for a few more weeks, and by Thanksgiving, my pants won’t fit, and I won’t remember why. And I’ll probably write a post about how pissed I am that I’m not losing any weight, because I will have forgotten the peanut butter cups, but you’ll be here to remind me, won’t you Internets?
I have a history of blaming everyone but me for my weight. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, because I am old and apparently boring and also repeat myself, but the first time I gained weight, I was in college, and one day I woke up and not a single one of my skirts, pants or even UNDERWEAR fit. And I blamed the dryer. Threw a fit, called the landlord and and let her know kindly but firmly that there was an old dryer in our house that had shrunk all of our clothes, despite the fact that no one else in the house reported similar incidents. I’m sure I’ll find a way to blame someone else for the peanut butter cup consumption. The penis ghost, maybe.
I might add that this is the same landlord whose leftover generic menthol cigarettes we (or should I say ‘I?’) used to pick out of the ashtray and smoke when we had too much to drink and had run out of Parliaments. And those memories are just a few of a frillion reasons why I am so freaking glad college is over.
*Peter Gabriel
23 comments November 1st, 2006