2.  Respond with, “You’re pregnant!” when I say, “I have good news!”

<insert eight other iterations of that same idea here>

Here’s the thing, asking a lady about her sex life?  That shit is inappropriate.  Asking people about their family plans?  That shit is banal.  When you ask me when/if I’m going to procreate you have managed to be simultaneously salacious and pedestrian, and while that is actually a sort of impressive feat, I’m still irritated.  If you want to talk about sex I am totally down with that.*  But if you want to talk about the current occupancy rate of my uterus I’m going to be fantasizing about stabbing you while you blather on stream of consciousness style about the joy of breeding.

And while we’re on the topic of breeders…  Listen, I get it, you have a baby/toddler/child/teenager and you think that he/she is the most adorable/precocious/funny/fascinating person ever, but guess what?  I don’t.  And neither does anyone else who isn’t directly related to said offspring.  Allow me to clarify, my friends and their sweet little babies?  I’m sold.  Send me cute photos, forward me videos, tell me about what they did at lunch today.  But everyone else?  I don’t care.  I particularly don’t care when I’m at work and you’re holding me hostage in the kitchen with Tales From Parenthood, presented multi-media style courtesy of your iPhone.

So yeah, being married and in your late twenties is apparently the equivalent of wearing a giant sandwich board that says, “ASK ME ABOUT MY VAGINA AND ITS PLANS FOR THE FUTURE!”  It’s really my own fault.

*Reference:  Every post on this blog that’s not about my imagined allergies nor my propensity towards social akwardness

P.S.  For the record, my godson is the cutest baby on Earth.  Sorry to burst your bubble receptionist lady.

A.)  That tiny horse I was riding up that Philippine volcano died, stranding me in a lava-filled jungle oasis from which there was no escape.

B.)  The cops located that hobo cemetery in my backyard and I was serving a prison sentence for improper disposal of  human remains (to be clear, no one could prove those hobos didn’t die of natural causes).

C.)  I joined/started a cult worshiping The One True Shopping Complex and have spent the last year camped outside of a Kohl’s recruiting white chubby middle-aged ladies who love bargains into my congregation.

D.)  All of the above.

I’m sure you guessed correctly and no further explanation of my absence is necessary.  No?  Huh, okay then.  Here’s a brief synopsis of what I’ve actually been doing over the last year:

- Working

- Moving

- Therapy

Ben got a new job (yay!) and I got a promotion at my day job (yay!) and my mother has been sick (boo!).  Hmm, what else???  Oh yeah, Ben and I were considering moving to Texas (motherfucking boo ya’ll!).  But we didn’t.  Because Texas is kind of scary in that it is nothing like New England and new things frighten me.  And there were mega churches EVERYWHERE.  Like we’d be driving along and I’d be all, “Wow, that mall does a brisk business on Sunday mornings.  Also, why does that mall have a giant cross on its roof?”  Then we’d drive another .75 miles and I’d be all, “Huh, that office park does a brisk business on Sunday mornings.  Also, why does that office park have a giant cross on its roof?”  Rinse, lather, repeat until you hit a gun show then stop and buy a gun.

In the interest of full disclosure I did kind of stopped talking to everyone I know for no reason other than I have clinical anti-social tendencies that rear up when I’m stressed.  Long story short, you are not alone Internet, unless your name is Jill’s Husband or you carried me in your uterus for nine months, we probably haven’t talked much since I returned from Asia.

Reference:  I Am a Bad Friend for more information on this phenomenon.

Where does that leave us?  Can you forgive me?  What if I promise to post a recent sex tape (tasteful, of course) that Ben and I made (of which Ben may or may not be aware)?  Two words:  pony play.  That shit was crazy.

Currently I am married to this gorgeous man.

These days Valentine’s Day is a fun affair.  This year Ben bought me flowers and chocolates and he made me a lobster dinner.  But that’s not what this is about.  No, this is about one particular horrible pre-Ben Valentine’s Day.

We have all dated someone completely embarrassing, right?  Personally, I dated about 30 embarrassing guys, but I’m kind of an overachiever.  The most cringe-worthy guy I dated was a snow board instructor/local television producer.  You read that correctly, local television producer.  He was kind of a big deal.  We’ll call him Mark.

Mark was really weird and if I hadn’t been so drunk the first few times I saw him, I would have noticed this earlier.  I met Mark at a bar in Boston .  I was with one of my girlfriends and as we walked out of the bar he stopped me and asked in I knew how to ice skate.  In my buzzed state I thought this question was hilarious, so in lieu of answering I just laughed.  He persisted, and I told him that no, I did not know how to ice skate.  Mark then asked me if I wanted to learn.  I said sure, we exchanged numbers and I went on my drunken way.

Fast forward to our first date.  It was the end of January and Mark took me ice skating at Frog Pond in Boston .  I was petrified.  The thing is, I’m terribly uncoordinated even when I’m not on ice.  I didn’t see how this could possibly end well, so I did what any other reasonable 24 year old woman would do, I got just shy of drunk before our date.  Needless to say that this did not help improve my ice skating skills.

The first date had gone well enough that, despite my inebriation and lack of skating abilities, Mark asked me out again.  This time we were going out to dinner and (get ready for it) drinks, so there was no need for me to show up to this date already half in the bag.  Or so you would think.  Well, we were meeting up later in the evening on a Friday, so rather than going back to my apartment after work and then trekking back out to Back Bay to meet up with him, I decided to stay in Back Bay and grab some drinks with co-workers before my date.  Are you keeping track?  Because I’ve now seen this guy three times, none of them sober.

Apparently I’m charming when I drink because he asked me out yet again.  For our third date, I decided to switch it up and not pregame like a Penn State frat boy.  Through the haze I always had a good time with Mark.  He was funny and cute, so I decided to actually show up to a date in my right mind.  This was a horrible idea.  I learned Mark’s funny cuteness was directly proportional to my drunkenness.  The date was going horribly.  Mark was a close talker.  And he whispered everything in a way that he seemed to think was sexy, but was actually kind of scary.  He also liked to give odd compliments, like, “You have great posture, it’s really sexy.”  I decided to remedy the situation with copious amounts of alcohol.  And sure enough, the more I drank the less he reminded me of a child molester.

But I miscalculated.  I drank too much, therefore making him too charming, therefore making me go back to his apartment, therefore resulting in this little tableau:

Mark walks into his bedroom after having gotten me a glass of water.  I am sitting on Mark’s bed.  Mark dances in front of me like a burlesque dancer.  He is totally serious.  He has his sexy face on.  Marc begins stripping his clothes off.  The dancing is now accompanied by singing.  Sexy singing.  Singing a montage of Beatle’s songs.  He gets down to his boxers which he thankfully leaves on.  He dances over to his closet where he removes black pleather pants.  Marc shimmies into the black pleather pants and starts singing an old STP song.  He continues to dance around the room, signing.  When he finally stops its to tell me that he wants to be a rock star.  Then he proceeds to show me his awesome rock star poses.  I die a little on the inside.

Before I go on, let me explain that this happened in real life.  This happened to me.  I endured this.

Right about this point I realized that there was not enough booze in the entirety of Ireland to make what had just happened sexy.  I feigned sick and left quickly.  But the story does not end here.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day.  I walked out of my office at the end of the day and who do I find waiting for me with flowers?  Mark.  And hey, guess what else?  He smells awful.  So, yeah…  Marc walks up to me, gives me the flowers, kisses me on the cheek, and generally acts like this is completely normal.  Have you ever been in a horribly awkward situation and the awkwardness is so massive that it overwhelms and paralyzes you?  Because that is totally what happened to me.  I tried to make my brain work, screaming at it to think of a goddamned exit strategy, but all I was getting was:

What I’m trying to tell you is that I went to dinner with this guy.  After he danced in leather pants.  I did that.  And I’m not proud.  And actually it gets worse, because I kind of, sort of, kept on seeing him for a month or so after that.  And he wore the leather pants again.  On multiple occasions.  And once he asked one of my girlfriends if she had a penis.  And the smell?  Not a one time thing.

The end

In my life there are several different classes of mass emailers and they are all horrible and rage-inducing in unique ways.  Lets take a look at these special snowflakes:

The Conservative Family Member Mass Emailer

Disclaimer: I live in New Hampshire.  Our state motto is LIVE FREE OR DIE and I’m totally down with that.  I’m not a Democrat, I’m not a Republican.  I do not like getting political propaganda email from either party.  Just wanted to clarify so that I don’t get any nasty emails from any of my more conservative friends.

As I’ve just indicated, I do not want any viral email about any party’s political agenda coming into my inbox, but I must say that I’ve noticed a distinct difference in the volume of right-wing vs. left-wing emails.  I may have a skewed sense of things because I have a crazy aunt who I’m pretty sure is secretly Dick Cheney.  (Lets just say I’ve never seen them in the same room together, suspicious.)  This crazy aunt loves to send me and everyone she has ever met, and probably some people she hasn’t, emails about her three favorite topics:  Jesus, Obama as Satan, Sarah Palin.  If you are lucky enough to have never met my aunt, or Dick Cheney, and if you’ve avoided the Conservative Mass Email Epidemic thus far, let me give you a quick synopsis:

Obama was not born in America, but was instead pushed from the loins of the Devil in the deep fiery pits of hell.  The liberal media is not reporting this story because they are liberal.  And evil.  LET PEOPLE KNOW THE TRUTH!  Email this to everyone you know so that we can amass a great army to defeat the liberal agenda of forward progress!

This random person that someone knows got really sick, and then she and her family prayed to Jesus, and then she got better.  But only after she declared herself saved and started donating 10% gross to the CBN. Go Jesus!  Forward this email to everyone you know so that we can spread the word of Jesus, and also maybe we can amass a great army to defeat the liberal agenda of forward progress!

Sarah Palin is awesome.  The end.  Send this on to everyone you know so that we can amass a great army to defeat the liberal agenda of forward progress!

Guys, I love Jesus and America, but if there is anything in this world that’s going to turn me into salvation hating French citizen, its these emails.  Seriously, I break a commandment every time I get one, just out of spite.

The Read My Blog/Watch My YouTube Video Mass Emailer

Disclaimer: I love being a blogger.  I really do.  I love having a place to share all of the scary thoughts that swirl around in my brain space.  I love getting emails from other bloggers and people who just read this for fun (or to feel normal in comparison, whatever).  It makes me totally happy.

Now, that being said, jillian@pilgrimcongress.com has somehow ended up on a unusual amount of mass email lists.  Inevitably I get these emails from people who I’ve had no prior contact with, and generally they are about this HILARIOUS video I need to watch, or an AWESOME giveaway on someone’s site.  A few tips for those people:  Your kid jumping on a trampoline and falling off is not hilarious, its neglectful.  And a little hilarious, but only if he breaks something.  But even if he breaks something I’m not really interested, and if I were I would just go to YouTube and type in “neglectful parent with camcorder scars child for life via bouncing apparatus.”  Also, I love giveaways.  I dig it.  Its awesome.  That being said, if I don’t read your blog already, I’m probably not going to start because you’re giving away monogrammed stationary from your Etsy store.  Now, if you were giving away monogrammed televisions…  Either way though, really and truly, if we’ve never had any interaction and I get an email from you addressed to a billion other people,  your giveaway could be for a monogrammed picture of Stone Phillip’s penis and I’d still delete it because that shit is spam.

The Socially Retarded Friend of Your Spouse Who Has No Tact And Who Makes You Want To Harm Yourself Mass Emailer

Is this just me?

Ben has this friend who we’ll call Paul.  I’m pretty sure Paul is mentally challenged as a result of a being pummeled in the head as a child.  With oranges.  By his mother.  This is the only explanation for the email forwards that Paul sends out daily.  Emails about how women should not be allowed in the workplace.  Emails that he sends to me, a woman, at my work email address.   Emails about how fat chicks are gross, and the various noises that erupt from their bodies during sexual intercourse.  That come to my professional email address.  At my very conservative company.  Emails about the best way to cheat on your wife.  That he sends to me, his friend’s wife.  Oh sir, you are the most offensive mass emailer of all.  Jesus hates you.  He told me in an email that I subsequently forwarded to everyone you know.

P.S.  Thanks Krista.

As such I have been working on a plan to become wealthy enough to buy a large estate with extensive grounds that include a hedge maze.  (Side note:  Is it weird that my dream home is largely based on Kubrick’s interpretation of the hotel in The Shining?)  This brings me to my big reveal:  Internet, I have decided to start my own business.  A prostitution ring/child care service.  My thinking is that there are lots of single moms and dads out there who are in need of physical love and a babysitter.  These parents on the go don’t have time for things like “dating” or “interviewing quality daycare providers.”  So, here’s a solution!  A sexy man or woman shows up at your house in the morning, he or she provides some dirty adult services of your choosing, then you go to work and the sexy man or lady provides some clean child services of your choosing.  The hourly prices are a little more than you might normally pay for a good hooker, but still less than you would pay for a highly qualified nanny.

If you are interested in an employment opportunity, please email me with your qualifications, including sex acts performed and maximum number of children you’ll mind at one time.  If you are interested in becoming a customer of Totally Legitimate Babysitting Services , please email me and I’ll send you some more detailed information.  If you are interested in turning this into a cheeky sitcom with a title like Debbie Does Daycare or Spunky Screwya (these may actually be better porn titles, I tend to work a little blue), please send me money.

Holden Caulfield.

My brain hurts,  so I’m going to do something a little different today.  I’m going to share lots of random thoughts.  None of which are related.  Well, they are related in the sense that they originated in my brain parts, but that’s it.  Essentially, I’m too lazy to work any smooth transitions into this post.  My blogging skills are pretty much unmatched.

Random Thought #1

Today I walked into a public restroom that smelled just like peppermint and cupcakes.  It was like this bathroom had once been a bakery.  What made it smell this way?  Its an olfactory mystery.  I found it very disconcerting.

Random Thought #2

Hustler Magazine pays like $1000.00  for stories about kinky sexual sub-cultures.  This information both depresses and inspires me.

Random Thought #3

If I were a hamster I would be so pissed.  Its like your only choice is to live in a glass cage, among your own feces, with a goddamn wheel.  Until your 6 year old owner decides to “hug” you, which really means “squeeze you until your insides rupture.”  Like there are no wild hamsters.  If you are a hamster you’re only option is to toil away in an aquarium, abused and eventually murdered by a child.

Random Thought #4

I would murder a homeless guy for some Fudgie The Whale Cake right now.  Like gunned down in the street for sea mammal ice cream cake.

Random Thought #5

I would sleep with Jason Bateman before George Clooney.  And Stone Philips before Jason Bateman.  And the corpse of Stalin before anyone on the Jersey Shore.  Oh, and Ben before everyone.  Except for Jesus.  Because I’m a Christian for Christ’s sake.

Random Thought #6

The end.

Love,

Jill Pilgrim

1.  My first, and most enduring, crush is on Stone Phillips.

2.  My favorite color is red.  Like blood and tomatoes.

3.  I read a ton.  I generally go through a couple of books a week.

4.  I require a lot of alone time.  Mostly because I am socially awkward.  And awkwardness, while hilarious, can also be exhausting.

5.  I did pageants as a kid.  Word of advice, don’t ever, ever, EVER do this to your children.  Or if you do, please put aside money for their future therapy bills.

6.  I don’t drink.  Weird, huh?

7.  I’m not an alcoholic or a Mormon.  Even weirder, right?

8.  Ben and I met in a bar.  That was back when I was still drinking.

9.  I actually don’t drink because Jesus came to me in a dream and told me not to drink anymore.

10.  Not really, but wouldn’t that be hilarious.

So yeah, learning is fun, right?  Now the second part of blog awards involves passing the awards along to other blogs.  Small problem, I read about 20 million blogs and they’re all fucking awesome.  And way classier than this shit.  So, here is a screen shot of about an eighth of my reader:

You’re all winners of Jill Pilgrim’s Half Assed Blog Award.  Congrats!!

1.)    I do not like events that require “family time.”  I feel this is self-explanatory, but in case its not, I’ll elaborate:  My family is crazy and holidays generally descend into arguing about topics ranging from income taxes to various family member’s alcohol problems.  In my family, being festive is a euphemism for screaming obscenities.

2.)    I am cheap.  I plan to die with my money buried around me.  Like a fortress.  To protect me from grave robbers.  And also to bribe Jesus into reincarnating me as a dog.  Who can talk.  None of these dreams can come true if I’m spending all of my money on Christmas presents.

3.)    I actually think I covered everything.  But it seems weird to stop at two, so pretend I have a third reason.  Like maybe I find candy canes obscene, as they remind me of stripper poles.  For underage elves.

Keeping these things in mind, the way I spent my weekend was fairly strange.  Yesterday, Ben and I, along with some friends (adorable couple previously pictured here) went to a tree lighting/Christmas concert in Portsmouth.  And it was actually not totally hateful.  Here’s a picture of Ben and me being filled with the Christmas spirit.

Notice how that picture is both very attractive and not at all blurry?  That’s because I took your collective advice and got a Cannon Elph.  Here’s another awesome photo I took with aforementioned camera.

Pretty fucking impressive, right?!  I thought so too.  Big improvement.  And yes, that is snow you see!  We got our first real snow last night.  And it totally freaked Coco out.  For your enjoyment, a short video of Coco Muffin Pilgrim’s first outing in the snow (brief cameo by Jill Pilgrim).  Enjoy.

P.S.  Yes, that is a shitload (technical term) of hay that you see in the video.  I live in the middle of nowhere.  Also, is it sad that I get so excited about my dog finally going to the bathroom?  I didn’t think so.

The latest incident of camera malfunction happened this past weekend at my aunt’s wedding.  Um, how do I say this delicately?  It was… um… an abortion.  The wedding, not the camera.  Well, the camera a little bit, but nothing compared to the wedding.

First off, it was a Greek Orthodox ceremony.  In Greek.  Which I do not understand.  And which no one else in the wedding, including the groom, speaks.  It was pretty awkward.  Also?  My aunt decided to make the 4 year old flower girl stand at the top of the aisle with me.  Totally cute, right?  Except the ceremony is 10,000 hours long, and this little girl had a .000001 second attention span.  This meant that every 45 seconds or so, she turned to me and said loudly, “Is this the end?”  “Is this the very end?”  “Is it the end yet?”  “Is it over?”  “Is it over now?”

Finally I told her that she had to be quiet because she was making Jesus angry.  I’m kind of awesome with kids.  Except it backfired when she the said, even more loudly than before, “Is Jesus a ghost?” “Is that man (points to random painting) Jesus?”  “Is that man (another random painting) Jesus?”  “Does God live here?”  “The old lady said you can’t go outside alone because there are drugs outside.”

About half way through her stream of consciousness diatribe on religion and drug use, I decided we were soul mates.  And I should probably kidnap her and make her say cute and unintentionally hilarious things all day.  Luckily for her, I remembered how much I value my sleep and decided to let her continue living with her parents.

After the ceremony, my aunt’s new husband told Ev to call him dad.  Evan’s face looked a little like this:

Then it was time for the reception.  Oh, the reception!  I can’t do it justice with mere words, but I’ll try.  Where to start?  Um, my father was a gigantic ass, as was expected.  The real treat came when my aunt’s new husband came up to me during dinner, and said, “That’s a big piece of meat for such a little girl.  Can you handle it?”  Seriously.  He said that to me.  At his own wedding.  To my aunt.  It was pretty much the classiest thing I’ve ever seen and/or experienced.  But this was nothing compared to the center ring event, when the groom and one of the guests got into a screaming match.  I believe the word “douchebag” was used pretty liberally.  As was the phrase, “don’t fuck with me.”  Then there were tears.  Honest to God tears.  This, my friends, is why you don’t do 4 shots of Ouzo before your own wedding.  And also, why you don’t take another 27,804 additional shots at your wedding reception.  It doesn’t end well.  Little bit of wisdom from me to you.

And now back to my original point, which was that I am in desperate need of a new camera.  Any suggestions?  Nothing too complicated, I’m barely smart enough to draw stick figures, so keep that in mind when making a recommendation.

In closing, here are some awesome pictures taken with my awesome camera at the awesome wedding:

1. I Hate Turkeys.  I live in New Hampshire, and in case you weren’t aware, New Hampshire is overrun with turkeys.  Also, in case you weren’t aware, turkeys are assholes.  They chase small children.  They also surround my Jeep and force me to call my boss to explain that I’m going to be a little late to work because my car is surrounded by turkeys.
2. I Love My In-laws.  I have the nicest in-laws ever.  So nice, that even when I told my father in-law that anyone who believes in Intelligent Design is mentally handicapped, he continued to be sweet to me.  Even though he apparently believes in Intelligent Design.  Oops.
3. I Am a Pilgrim.  Thanksgiving is the one day a year that I can dress in full pilgrim regalia without it seeming strange.  Oddly enough, people seem a little put off when I throw on my pilgrim gear on the occasional Tuesday.  Close minded assholes.
4. I EnjoyEating.  A lot.  I’m especially fond of carbs.  Carbs in the form of pecan pie and various potato products.  On Thanksgiving my goal is to eat until I almost throw up.  Like super close, but not actually sick.  Its a bit of a gamble, but I like the danger.
5. I Have Much To Be Thankful For.  My life is pretty awesome.  Sure, I have a crazy family, but I also have an awesome husband.  A very attractive husband.  Who loves me.  And who (whom?  no idea.  i think its whom.) I love.   And Ben has these new boxers that he looks delicious in, and really that’s all that I need to make me happy.  So thank you Jesus for creating the Earth, and America, and boxer briefs, and penises.