So here’s the deal, I like people.  I even love some people.  On the whole I think people are interesting creatures worthy of affection.  Long story short, I am totally not a sociopath.  Just wanted to get that out there before I make some potentially sociopathic statements.  Ready?  Okay.  I simply don’t get other people.  Like I am spectacularly awful at normalcy which means that my perspective on most things is just different enough from that of the average human being that I’m sometimes left scratching my head at middle-of-the-bell-curve behavior.  For example, I emphatically do not understand people who crave shoulders to cry on when they are upset.  So confusing.  When I’m down or sad or feeling generally unwell I want to be alone, as in decidedly unequivocally alone.  I just like my own company.  I feel most myself when I am alone.  I like the feeling of my own thoughts in my own head analyzing my own experiences.  I motherfucking like myself (::cough:narcissist:cough::).

BUT, all that comfort with myself?  Completely irritating.  Because guess what?  No man is an island and all that cliched bullshit.  It’s hard for me to connect with other people and yet (ignoring all contrary evidence) I am human and as such require social relationships to maintain my (relative) mental health.  I think (absolute conjecture here) that what helps most people feel genuinely connected to others is a sense of reciprocal need, and total independence doesn’t allow for that type of reciprocity.  And so, I am trying very hard to be… different.  And that shit is not easy, yo.

In an attempt to improve on my whole “human connectedness” shtick, I’ve been trying to come up with a list of things that make me feel all warm and sweet with other people, and I’ve got to tell you I suck at this.  Do these things come naturally to you???  Because my initial list looked like this:

1. Sex

2. Sex

3. Shared passion for NPR

4. Sex

5. Naming me the godmother of your child

And I’ve got to say there are some serious flaws with that list.

1.  I think my friends are going to be totally freaked out if I try to make out with them in order to introduce intimacy into our relationships.  Just a guess.  I mean they’re almost all married with kids, and most of them are women, so you know…

2.  I have yet to meet someone as fanatically devoted to NPR as I am- total dead end.

3.  Um, hi, have you met me?  I had to slip Danielle a mickey to get her to agree to make me her son’s godmother.

Short of sleeping with someone and/or converting them to the Church of Carl Kasell, how does one go about having a deep(ish) and (kind of) meaningful relationship?  It’s a fucking emotional Rubik’s cube.  I’m totally adept at making friends, I can run that social sprint like all get out.  But the marathon of actual friendship?  Fuck, if we’re not actively sleeping together or you’re not birthing adorable children for whom I am spiritually responsible,  it’s totally possible I’ll just stop answering your calls one day and after a few months you’ll just assume I died.  And, dear person who’s calls I randomly stopped answering, just know- it’s not you, it’s me.  You are lovely and I am crazy.

In closing, I’m trying to grow and stuff.  Truly, I want to be the kind of person who turns to friends when I’ve had a hard day.  And more importantly I want to be the kind of person my loved ones can rely on consistently.  So, yeah, if I randomly start calling just to say I love you, I promise I’m not dying of cancer, I’m not in AA, and I don’t need to borrow your car- I’m just trying to connect with you.  While clothed.  Weird, right?

So last week?  I went on a business trip.  To Missouri.  Jealous?  Thought so.  While down there I was a bit on edge.  Here’s the deal, even on my best and most normal day I am clinically intense, and as soon as I am removed from my rather narrow element that intensity ratchets up to something that leaves me feeling like I’m on the sixth day of a ten day coke binge.  Not that I would know, I mean I’m pretty sure if I took uppers I’d be dead.  My resting heart rate already rivals that of a bunny rabbit, so you know…   I’m not a drug addict.  Moving on…  While down there I think I slept a total of, hmm, forty-five minutes.  Maybe.  I also ate like twice.  Now if this were a math equation you would probably imagine that it would look something like this:

no sleep + no food = death

But, hey, guess what?!?  You would be totally wrong!  Apparently you fucking suck at crazy-people math!  The correct equation looks like this:

no sleep + no food = motherfucking unrivaled productivity, bitches

Like, I should totally move to Kansas City permanently and stop eating and sleeping forever.  Oh, the work I got done!  The books I read!  The endless podcasts I listened to!  It was glorious.  Like dirty-sex-with-Stone-Philips-circa-1996 glorious.  But.  BUT, I am totally paying for that shit now.  It’s like my body suddenly realized that biological laws state humans require calories for energy and sleep for proper brain function, and now its kind of freaking out.  And yet I still can’t sleep.  I think my body forgot how.  Is that possible?  I keep trying to do things like lie down in a dark room, and listen to white noise on my iPad, and count down slowly from one hundred.  And while I’m doing all of this, my brain is simply refusing to get on board with this whole sleeping plan.  And so, here I am, decidedly not sleeping and feeling too incoherent to do anything productive.

What to do now…  Walk the dog until my legs give out and I fall into an involuntary sleep on the side of the road?  Definite possibility.  Clean the bathrooms in the house until they could all collectively double as surgical theaters?  Too late, I already did that.  Make a mental list of all the men I’ve made out and see how many names I can actually remember?  Yup, totally my backup plan if the dog walking thing doesn’t pan out.  Peruse the Internet for interesting facts about the effects of sleep deprivation on humans?  Lets just say these are all good options.

And on that note, just know that I hate all of you sleeping jackasses.

Kisses!

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dearest Stone Phillips,

I am writing first and foremost to inform you that I received your message.  I will admit that I gave up on us a long time ago.  Once you were fired from NBC I had to come to terms with the fact that you were no longer going to visit my house, late at night, with softcore news stories about meth labs in middle America and three legged cats also in middle America and all manner of other things that happen in middle America .  I even married another man, albeit another man who bares a striking resemblance to a younger you.  In my defense, I only married Ben after he agreed to let me name our first child, regardless of gender, Stone.

But now everything is different.  Yesterday I saw a rerun of Dateline and it included a segment about your personal life, specifically about how much you love your dad and how you grew up on a ranch or something.  I know now that this particular rerun was meant to be viewed by me.  As I was watching, riveted, I heard a disembodied voice telling me that this was a message from you, a message meant only for me.  Stone, I will not disappoint you.  I will be joining you in New York in just a few short days.

I want to assure you that I completely understood the message you were trying to telepathically communicate.  The episode featured a piece about the over-prescription of medications in this country, so the first thing I did was stop taking all of my meds.  There was also a segment on automatic weapons and gun control, and I think I know what you were hinting at there.  The final segment was about child molesters, so I’m going to go ahead and kidnap Chris Hanson and bring him to you.

I can only assume that we’re having some sort of bacchanalia which will feature a Chris Hanson sacrifice.  Am I, right?  Wait, don’t tell me.  I want it to be a surprise.

Much Love and Devotion,

Jillian Pilgrim

P.S.  I made a little something for you.  I hope you like it.

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

Introducing, my super awesome, not at all offensive, JESUS CALENDAR!

Cass won the first calendar without even trying, and if you would like to join her in Jesus calendar ownership you can purchase one here.

The calendar includes awesome graphics like this:

And this:

You should probably buy ten and pass them out at the office.  Perfect as a secret Santa gift for your boss.  Guaranteed by Jesus to get you a promotion!

Here’s the deal, I am a crazy person.  Being crazy is often rather amusing (or scary, depending on your perspective).  But there are times when being crazy is just fucking exhausting.  This has been one of those exhausting times.  As I’ve mentioned before, I am a clinically intense person on a good day.  My body’s response to relaxation probably looks an awful lot like your body’s response to being chased and subsequently eaten by a large bear.  I feel a constant buzzing, my muscles are always tense, I fidget, my thoughts race.  That’s just how I feel all the time.  Even with meds and therapy.  I’ve come to accept this.  Embrace it even.  See, there are some totally awesome benefits to being really intense.  Like, my house is always clean!  And I never run out of hand sanitizer!  And while you’re sleeping, I’m using that valuable time to come up with disaster recovery plans so that I’ll be prepared in case of an earthquake in New Hampshire!

Now that we’ve covered the upsides of my particular brand of mental illness, let me clue you in to some of the less desirable side effects of insanity.  There are times when its like my body literally can’t handle being so keyed up anymore.  And my body?  It has no fucking idea how to RELAX.  Relax is not a word my body understands.  Whereas a normal person might say, “Hey Body, I am totally exhausted from all this stress we’ve been under.  How about we spend a weekend lounging on the couch and doing nothing?  That will totally help us recoup.”  And then the normal person’s body would be all, “Dude, sure!  That’s exactly what we need!”  My body is more like this:

Jill: Body, we totally need to relax.  Lets watch some tv and just take it easy.

Body: DOES NOT COMPUTE

Jill: I’m just saying, lets take a long hot bath and relax.

Body: ERROR!  ERROR!  DOES NOT COMPUTE!

Jill: BITCH, FUCKING RELAX!

Body: Commencing flu sequence.  In 3, 2, 1.  Virus initiated.

And then I get sick.  Because that is the only way to get my body to slow down.  You know the expression “worried sick?”  Dude, I’m living it.  And its fucking annoying.  The whole mind/body connection thing?  Kicking my ass.

When I start to feel like this, the come down, I tend to become very withdrawn.  To be honest, I’m a pretty internal person in general.  While I am not shy and I think most people would probably describe me as outgoing, I have always I liked to spend a lot of time by myself.  Its how I recharge.  I enjoy my own company, which is a good thing since Ben’s job has him travelling 4 days a week.  What I’m getting at here is that it is not totally strange for me to not pick up any of my phone calls for a couple of days, but the way I’ve been feeling lately?  I know its not healthy.  And its a slippery slope.

If you’re been following me for a while, you’ve probably heard me describe myself as a mental health nut.  The same way someone obsessed with their physique would notice a weight gain of a few ounces, I notice even a slight change in my emotional barometer.  I have to because I know what happens when I don’t stay on top of it, and I can’t go through something like that again.  So when I notice that I’m a little depressed, or more anxious than usual I try to be proactive.  I try to talk about it, I make sure that I continue to eat and sleep regularly, I get outside, get some fresh air, get some exercise, listen to Brahms, write EXCITING CONTENT for my Internet friends.

My point is, I am okay for me.  I’m on a bit of an emotional downswing at the moment, but I recognize it and I’m addressing it.  I will be back to 100% soon, and until then here is a picture of Jesus to tide you over:

Honestly, my brain is barely functioning at the moment from all the STRESS and the fact that I haven’t lit this place on fire is a testament to the fact that Zoloft totally works.  I’ll post more details soon (along with the winner of my blow job giveaway), but until then here is an artistic representation of what’s going on inside my head right now.