“Hey Jill, you should totally go to this foreign country and work twelve hour days.  But hey also, we need you to stay on an eastern standard time schedule so would you mind working those twelve hours overnight?  You can totally sleep during the day.  You don’t require sunlight, right?  Good!  Thanks so much!  You’re a doll!”

Turns out they call it a graveyard shift because it makes you want to die and/or kill people.  I’ve been here for over a week and just saw the sun for the first time since leaving Japan.  Here’s photographic proof.

That’s me at the hotel.  Have I mentioned that this hotel is paradise?  That this hotel is the only thing keeping me sane?  Oh dearest hotel, I want to make sweet, sweet love to you with the lights on.  This is probably a good transition from semi-homicidal complaining about my lack of sleep to a brief list of the glorious things I’ve encountered in the Philippines.

1. The people are so unbelievably nice.  So nice.  And incredibly good looking.  It’s a country filled with people with great cheekbones, who smile all the time, and call me ma’am.  I have never had so many people smile at me in my whole life.  The kindness reaches through my perpetual haze of exhaustion and makes me want to hug the nice strangers on the street.  But I don’t.  Because I don’t want to frighten the nice Asians with my teary hugs.
2. I went to an open air market where I haggled for pearls.  I don’t think any elaboration is required.
3. The scenery and weather are a welcome change from New England.  There are palm trees and all sorts of other exotic plants everywhere.  Its hot and sticky and very tropical.  I generally hate the heat as my Irish ass does not handle it well, but since I’m only awake at night when the weather is just a hair cooler and the sun isn’t frying me I’m loving it.
4. I haven’t thrown up yet.  There have been some close calls, but so far no vomiting.  Always the hallmark of a successful trip.  I’m here for another week so there’s still a chance, but I’m feeling more confident that I’m not going to die involuntarily on this trip.

Yeah, so Ben and I are heading to a volcano soon.  Apparently there’s a lake around it.  And we’re going to ride tiny horses.  I’ll let you know how this works out.

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.

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

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.

Let me give you the haiku version first.  Still crazy in head.  Pharmaceuticals help some.  Jesus Banana.

Now for the slightly longer, but still appropriate blog length, version:

I no longer see the sun.  I leave for work and its dark.  I come home from work and its dark.  This is a problem as I require sunlight in order to function/remain not dangerously crazy.  So, my body is rebelling.  How? you ask.  Well, its decided it no longer requires sleep.  This is never a good sign.  Not sleeping is a precursor to stabbing people totally legal activities.  Another bad sign?  Not eating.  Of course not eating has another, less violent, side effect… sweet, sweet, weight loss.  Primarily in my breasts.  And there’s nothing a girl wants more than smaller breasts!

Here’s the thing about having an anxiety disorder, it sucks.  I wake up with my heart pounding, my muscles cramped, my jaw sore from grinding my teeth.  Lame.  BUT, don’t despair for me, there is an upside!  And here it is, I am so fucking productive when I’m anxious.  Maybe productive isn’t the right word.  What’s it called when you accomplish lots of shit that doesn’t actually need to be accomplished?  That’s what I do when I’m in a particularly panicky state.  Its truly scary.  See, when a person wakes up in the middle of the night and is in the throes of a panic attack she will not be falling back to sleep for an extended period of time.  Fact:  There is nothing good on television at 2:00 in the morning.  So, what is a girl to do?  Well, obviously the logical thing is to read all sorts of obscure and random stuff so that she can shock her husband with her awesome useless knowledge.  For example, today Ben and I had the following conversation:

Ben: How was your day?

Jill: Did you know that a coyote in Maine was found to be 89% wolf?

Ben: Huh.  Okay.

Jill: And 22% of coyotes in Maine are part wolf?

Ben: Oh.

Jill: And 90% of Maine is forested?

Ben: Lets just say you know more about Maine than I do.

Jill: And wolves.  And coyotes.

And then Ben cried because I am so much more awesome than he is.  So, I made him this to cheer him up.

And that is why being crazy is awesome. Except for the smaller breasts. You can’t win them all.

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 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.

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.

I have about 20 million pregnant friends at the moment.  And about 10 million friends with new babies.  And you know what?  I love babies.  I love their chubby cheeks and baby smell.  I love their fuzzy heads and wide eyes.  I also love baby clothes.  And frankly, its become a bit of an issue.  You know how when your friends are pregnant, you wait until the shower and buy them something off their registry?  Well, what I do is go to the closest baby clothing store, have a stroke, and buy billions of dollars worth of baby clothes.  Then Ben has a stroke when he sees the receipt.  Needless to say, we’re both on a lot of blood thinners.

Tiny baby clothes? Are my crack.  I go Whitney Houston all over Gymboree on a regular basis.  Here is a brief synopsis of one of my more recent trips.

I walk into Gymboree.  My eyes glaze over.  I foam at the mouth.  I begin to SQUEEEEE at a frequency only audible to other women.

Sales Associate: Can I help you find anything?

Me: No, I’m just going to purchase everything you have in the store.  Do you take AmEx?

Sales Associate: Ma’am, are you okay?  Your pupils seem to be fully dilated.

Me: Oh, that?  Just a mild stroke.  It happens whenever I am in presence of tiny shoes.  No need to be alarmed.  Do you work on commission?  If so, I am about to pay for your child’s college education.  Now, get me 20 of those tutus.  In every color.  All sizes through 2T.  Do you happen to sell babies here too?

Sales Associate: Ma’am its illegal to sell children.

Me: Whatever, why don’t you make yourself useful and ring up that entire rack over there.

I leave with enough baby clothes to outfit an entire Nazi baby army.

Now that we have established that I love babies and am not actually an evil baby hating hag, allow me vent all over you. I HATE when people ask, “So, when are you and Ben going to have kids?”  With our one year anniversary around the corner and with all of the Baby Gap bags I carry around, even my most random acquaintances have started to ask this question at an alarming rate.  Usually I just smile and laugh and make unintelligible noises as I quickly walk away, but I’m thinking of taking a more direct approach from now on.  Here are some of the new responses I’m going to use when people ask, “So, when are you and Ben going to start having kids?”:

• Well, as of now, Ben’s not allowed within 500 feet of children.  So, we’re going to have to wait until the courts remove that particular restriction.

• As soon as I can kick that heroine habit.

• We’re waiting for genetic engineering to become more widely available.  We’re only interested in babies that can read minds and have cat eyes.

• What are you talking about?  We have children.  This is Johnny with me right now.  Say “Hi” to the nice lady Johnny!

• Well, we had unprotected sex last night.  Unfortunately it was anal, so no dice.

Any other suggestions are welcome.

Within a week of getting my license, I hit a UPS truck.  A parked UPS truck.  A gigantic truck that was not moving, which I had plenty of room to move around.  How does this happen?  Allow me to illustrate.

So, I was driving about 40 mph and thought that I had enough room to get by the truck.  Turns out I was wrong.  I ended up hitting the truck with my sideview mirror.  My mirror smashed into a million pieces and I just kept on driving.  Because I am both stupid and dangerous.

Ben really took the UPS incident in stride.  He was totally nice about it.  He fixed the mirror and hugged me and told me that it was okay, but warned me to be more careful.

After that, Ben still trusted me enough to be the designated driver when we went out.  Or, if you’re cynical, Ben would only get in a car with me driving when he was drunk.  He always looked very scared.  And he made a lot of sudden movements towards the wheel when he was afraid I was going to hit something.

So, a few months later when I backed into some dude’s car in a parking lot, smashing my rear tail light and denting my bumper, I was afraid to tell Ben what really happened.  I was like 99.9999999% sure he was going to take my keys away.  So I told him I backed into a pole.  This seemed rational at the time.  Ben was awesome about it, fixed my car, hugged me and told me to be more careful.  He did not take my keys.

This weekend, while having dinner at a friend’s house, we got on the topic of my horrible driving skills.  At which point I thought it would awesome to tell Ben about that accident I had lied to him about.  During dinner.  With our friends.  It went something like this.

Danielle: So, Jill is kind of an awful driver.  I am never getting in the car with her again.

Ben: Ahaha, yes, remember the UPS truck incident?  Since then she’s been good though.

Jill: Hey actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you.  You know that accident I had in January?  I actually hit a guy’s car, not a pole.  Ahahahaha

::silence::

Jill: Ahaha

::silence::

Ben looked like this:

Everyone else looked like this:

I was slowly realizing this was not a good idea.

Ben: WHAT?!  Jill!  You hit a guy’s car?!  And you didn’t tell me?!

Jill: Um, yes?

Ben: Jill, what if this guy sued us?  Was he okay?  Was his car okay?

Jill: Oh, its fine.  His car was totally okay.  I started crying and he felt bad for me and he just left.  We didn’t even exchange information.

Ben: WHAT?!  I can’t believe you’re just telling me that now!

Jill: I was afraid you would take my keys!

Danielle: Would that have been such a bad idea?

Terri: Ben, let me tell you a story that will make you feel better.  A few years ago, one of my friends called me, and she was like, “Did you hear about the accident on Rt. 2 last night?  That was me.”  So she had hit this guy…

Danielle: Was the guy okay?

Terri: Oh no, he died.  But he was homeless and had advanced AIDS.  So, you know, he was going to die anyway.

::silence::

Terri: Turns out my friend had a brain tumor, so that was part of it.

Jill: See Ben, it could have been worse.

And then Ben forgave me, because I didn’t kill any homeless people.

In closing, thank you Terri.

Don’t get me wrong, I was so incredibly excited to move.  I HATED the place where Ben and I were living.  Or rather, I HATED the management company at our last apartment.  Specifically one particular woman named Jackie.  Jackie was either in her late 50’s/early 60’s or she just lived really hard.  Also?  She was gigantic and could have snapped me in half.  Lastly?  She was a bitch.  Who made me want to punch people.  And by people I mean her.  A little sampling of our some of out more recent interactions:

Jill vs. Jackie Round 1

Jill is throwing away junk mail in the mail room trash basket.

Enter Jackie.

Jackie:  You can’t throw that in there.

Jill:  Why?

Jackie:  That’s for paper only.

Jill:  This is paper.

Jackie:  That’s mail.  I don’t know that there’s only paper in that mail.  You have to throw that out in your apartment.

Jill:  What do you think is in these envelopes?  Rocks?  Its paper, Jackie.

Jackie:  You have to throw that away in your apartment.  You can’t throw that away here.

Jill throws the rest of her junk mail in the basket and walks out, trying to resist the urge to light Jackie on fire.

Jill vs. Jackie Round 2

Jill walks into the management office to drop off a rent check.

Jackie:  We got a noise complaint in your building.

Jill:  I know, I made the complaint.

Jackie:  Well, I have to tell everyone in your building to keep their televisions turned down.

Jill:  I made the complaint because the guy on the first floor was practicing his bass.  Connected to an amp.  Its not an issue with tv volume.

Jackie:  I got a note this morning and that’s not what it said.

Jill:  Jackie, tell the guy on the first floor to unplug his amp. 

Jackie:  You and Ben just keep your tv turned down.

Jill (smiling at Jackie):  Thank God we’re moving out of here.

Jill leaves management office plotting ways to light Jackie on fire and not get caught.

Jill vs. Jackie Round 3

A massive thunderstorm has just ended.  The electricity has just come back on.  The fire department is in the parking lot.

Jackie knocks on Jill’s door. 

Jill:  Hey Jackie, what can I do for you?

Jackie:  Are you smoking in here?

Jill:  No, I don’t smoke.

Jackie:  Does Ben smoke?

Jill:  No, he doesn’t.  And he’s not even here.  Why?

Jackie:  An alarm went off in the building. 

Jill:  Well, the electricity went off and the emergency lights came on.  Its probably because of that.

Jackie:  No someone was smoking in here.  I smell smoke. 

Jill:  Yeah, because there’s like a tree or something on fire.  That’s why the fire department in here.

Jackie:  Can I come and look around?

Jill:  No.

Jill slams door in Jackie’s face in order to prevent punching Jackie.  Prays Jackie gets hit by rogue lightning strike.

And that is why I couldn’t wait to move the fuck out of a little town called Newmarket, NH. 

In less stroke inducing news, the new place is so incredibly wonderful.  I am in love.  More on that next time.  Currently my husband is yelling at me about some blowjobs I owe him or something, I can’t really hear him.  He might be asking me to take the dog out.  Or he could be screaming at the baseball players on the tv.  Just to be safe I’m going to walk into the living room, rip Ben’s pants off, take the dog out, and break the tv.  All in a day’s work, my friends.