What follows is my litany of recently uncovered misconceptions.  You may want to skip this if you a.) have never seen Ally McBeal, or b.) value your time too much to waste it reading about 90’s dramadies.  Alright then, for those of you who are sticking around lets get started.

First off, as a high school freshman I was unaware that adult women with professional careers can’t dress like hookers with blazers when on the clock.

Pardon Me Ma'am, You Seem To Have Forgotten Your Pants

I mean I like dressing like a vagina flashing ho as much as the next girl, but I usually save those looks for my off hours.  I’m also not a lawyer, so maybe I’m missing something.  Though I do have lawyer friends and as far as I know they all wear ass covering garments to work.  I’ll have to confirm that with them to be sure…

Secondly, mental illness while hilarious in its milder forms tends to get less funny when its progressed to outright hallucinations.  The Ally McBeal character could probably have benefited from a civil commitment.  As a teenager I thought she was all romantic and whimsical, as an adult I’m afraid she might blow the building up come next episode.  I just finished the episode where the therapist tries to get her to consider taking Prozac (number one indication that this is a show from the 90’s, I mean Prozac?  How quaint!) and she’s all, “No, I’m proud I don’t fit in.  Blah, blah, blah.”  And I can’t help but think that if I went to my therapist and told her I couldn’t get through the day with out having multiple hallucinations Prozac would be the least of her recommendations.

Thirdly, Ally McBeal is a home-wrecking slut.  There I said it.

Lastly, I’m confident that the all of writers on this show were men with small penises.  I came to this conclusion after the thirtieth mention by a character that women a.) are sexual objects, b.) secretly want to be nothing more than sexual objects, c.) can’t complete professionally with men because their brains are rules by their ovaries, d.) are pathologically litigious and ruining society with their damn sexual harassment laws.

In closing, this show is fucking horrible and I yet can’t stop watching it.

P.S.  Happy Rapture Christians!! See you in Hell everyone else!!

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.

I am obsessed with This American Life.  I want to make sweet, sweet love to Ira Glass while he tells me funny and thought provoking stories about things that seem one way but are actually another way, and after coitus I’ll look over at him and be all, “Life is so complicated.  And fascinating.  Here’s a one thousand dollar donation to public radio.”  Anywho, earlier this week I was listening to an old episode of This American Life and there was this story about funerals, and more specifically people who prior to death make video messages that will be played at their funerals.  Or something like that.  To be honest I was writing while listening to the story in the background so there’s a distinct possibility that I imagined at least a portion of that.  This story (or hallucination) totally inspired me and so I have decided to make a video message that will be played at my funeral after my inevitable travel related death.  There is just one minor problem, I have already packed my video camera.  You’re probably wondering why I packed my video camera if I plan on dying tomorrow, and the answer is simple and predictable, Ben made me pack.  Even after I explained that I’m definitely going to die on this trip.  Ira Glass would never do that.

Since I am cameraless at the moment I am going to instead write a farewell letter, full of wisdom and other stuff.  And here we go:

Dearest People Who Loved Me,

First off let me thank you for coming to my funeral.  You look pretty today.  Black suits you.

I want you to know that I am not in a better place.  Do not comfort yourself with lame platitudes like,

“Jill is with Jesus now.”

or

“Jill wouldn’t want you to be sad.”

or

“Jill would want you to move on.”

None of these things are true.  I have an entire blog dedicated to derisive Jesus jokes.  I am not with Jesus.  Jesus is totally punishing me right now.  Also, I want you to be sad and never move on.  I have no children, the only way I will live on is through your grief.  Everyday should begin with crying, fist shaking at the sky, and proclamations of never ending sadness.  And now that I am dead I am like Santa Claus, I see all, I know all.  I know when you are sleeping and awake, but more importantly I know if you are moving on, and so help me Jesus if you even try to move on I will totally haunt you.  Have you seen Paranormal Activity?  Because I will make that shit look like a goddamn fairy tale.  Any money you were planning on spending on therapy, you should instead spend on building a shrine.  My favorite color is a sunny yellow and I love puppies, so yellow puppies should be the a central theme to the shrine.  Also, you will see a merchandise table by the casket where you can purchase a variety of shrine-approved photos.

In closing, I love you all, but that will not stop me from ruining your life if you do not properly mourn.

Love,

Jill

Production Note: This letter should be read by someone with a rich baritone with Ginuwine’s My Pony playing softly in the background.

Also, I leave all of my earthly belongings to my new godson.  Yes, you read that correctly, my gorgeous friend Danielle and her very handsome husband Mike asked Ben and I to be godparents.  That happened.  In real life.   And, in all seriousness, we couldn’t be happier.

In conclusion, 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.

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

Monday morning, I take Coco out for a walk before I leave for the office.  The stairs are icy and I slip and fall.  On my brick stairs.  It is very graceful and looks something like this:

Upon reaching the bottom of my stairs I realize something is very wrong.  The first indication is my inability to get up.  Second red flag is the uncontrolled crying.  Unfortunately Ben is on a trip, so I am alone.  Well, not alone, Coco is there.  But my misfortune continues since Coco doesn’t know how to drive or call a hospital.

After what seems like hours of being curled up in the fetal position on the ice, crying, I am finally able to get up.  I’m all, “Jill, walk it off.  You’re fine.”  And I take my own advice, finish walking Coco, continue crying, bring her back inside, more crying, and leave for work, while crying.

Note: In retrospect, its now clear to me that I was seriously injured.  At the time, I think the pain had made me irrational.

Now, I am driving to work.  And the pain is unbearable.  In 20 degree weather, I am driving with all of my windows down because I am feeling like I am about to pass out and/or throw up.  At this point, I have decided that I need to get to the hospital.  I am on a mission.  A simple, yet important mission.  Remain conscious long enough to get to the hospital.  Well, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED BITCHES!

I walk into the ER, or rather hobble into the ER.  Lots of crying.  And swearing.  At Jesus.  The homeless gentleman in the waiting room is looking at me nervously, clearly afraid of what the crazy lady is about to do next.  Needless to say, I am promptly brought to an exam room, if for no other reason than to put the other patients in the waiting room more at ease.  Crying, crying, crying.  X-rays.  Broken sacrum diagnosis.

Here’s the thing, you may not know this, but I’m pretty hardcore.  A couple of years ago, I broke my ankle and walked on it for a week before finally going to the hospital.  My doctor at the time told me that there was no way it was broken because I had been walking on it.  In heels.  Four inch heels.  Quick x-ray later, totally broken.

Being a total hardcore badass, I not only turned down the shot of morphine offered at the hospital, I also refused a prescription for narcotic pain killers.  Mostly because they make me feel nauseous and I hate throwing up.  Like I will gladly take the pain of a broken sacrum over the soul-killing experience that is vomiting.  So, for the last week, I’ve been popping a combo of Tylenol and Motrin.  All while trying to avoid dying.

While at mass this weekend, please remember to tell Jesus about how happy it would make you if my back was better.  And now a photo essay explaining how I currently feel.

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.  My job.

This is purely practical.  I have no interest in being dooce’d.  I work in a conservative field, for a conservative company, in a very buttoned-up position.  Also, my job is not terribly interesting.  I’m not a ninja.  Or a polar bear.  Or a sex worker.  So, you know, not a lot of material there.

2.  My family

I’m not even sure I ever made a conscious decision to not discuss my family, it just sort of happened (or rather didn’t) naturally.  I don’t really discuss my family in real life (barring my therapy sessions), so I never felt the need to discuss it on the Internet.  Except that one time when I posted about vagina math and gave them all pilgrim heads.  Well, fuck that Internet, lets get intimate and talk about family!  More specifically, my family.  Though, I’d love to hear about your family too.  We have a reciprocal relationship, you and I.

A little background:

I have two brothers, Chris (real name) and Tom (not real name).  I am very close with one of them (guess who!) and I do not speak to the other.  Um, it’s complicated.  My brother Tom has a serious drug problem.  And he has a personality disorder.  Huh… guess it’s not that complicated after all.

My brother Chris is the bee’s knees.  We’ve always been really close.  He’s by far the most normal person in the family.  If you’ve been reading me for a while, you may remember him from this & this.

I have two parents (shocking, I know), both alive, still married.  I have a complicated, but loving relationship with my mom.  Its terribly Oprah.  My father and I are not currently speaking.  We’ve been estranged, off and on, since I left for college almost ten years ago.  Both of my parents are kind of insane, which I’m sure is not surprising considering they raised someone who twitters as Very_Real_Jesus.  In the interest of full disclosure, I will say that my parents are not haha/fun crazy.  My father spent some time in an inpatient psychiatric program in his younger days.  My mother was hospitalized for depression/suicidal behavior a few months ago.  I totally come by my own craziness naturally.  As a matter of fact, on the Pilgrim Scale of Crazy, I am actually completely sane.  By the Pilgrim Family Standard, I am totally well adjusted.  Scary, right?

In addition to my immediate family, I have an aunt (mother’s sister), Irene, who I am very close with.  Growing up, I kind of wanted to be her.  She seemed so, um, stable?  Or something.  My aunt has a daughter, Evan, who is my best friend.  If you’ve been reading for a really long time, you may remember that this site was originally started by both me and Ev.  Here is her post about frozen penises for your enjoyment.  Just because.

So, why the fuck am I telling you all of this?  Um, mainly because I want to bitch about this wedding I’m in next weekend and I thought you needed some back story to fully appreciate my bitching.  That’s a totally valid reason for airing all of my family dysfunction on the Internet, right?

My aunt is getting married next weekend.  Ev and I are her bridesmaids.  My mom is giving her away.  Cute, huh?  Yes, its all terribly adorable and happy and all that bullshit.  There is, however, one major issue.  Two issues, really.  My father?  My brother, Tom?  They are both totally going to be there.  As for my brother, Chris?  That bitch totally bailed on me and is not coming.  And if I didn’t adore my aunt/cousin/mom so much I would join him.  Damn you, familial love and obligation!

See, my dad and Tom?  Both very, very, VERY confrontational people.  I’m bracing myself for the inevitable awkwardness, which will be followed by passive aggressive goading, which will end in yelling.  And maybe crying.  Here’s a flowchart to illustrate the likely chain of events:

The upside is that I get to wear a not-totally-hideous dress.  And there will be cake.  And this will give me some fresh material for therapy.  And it will probably make for an interesting blog post.  Also, there will be cake.