A Fool In Love

Hey, remember that writing contest where everyone submitted stories to be included in the NieNie Fund book? I sent in a handful of stories at the time, nearly all of which came directly from this blog. I could only manage to come up with one previously unread story. It wasn't the one that got picked, obviously. Possibly because it was depressing and pathetic. I don't know. Anyway, I figured I'd finally stick it on the old blog. Again, for posterity's sake. Man, posterity is SO fricking lucky!

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A few friends and I were talking the other day. I wondered aloud how some people managed to get married in this world, what with them being complete freaks and all. Then I continued by noting that I'm positive many, if not all, of the people I've met have wondered the very same about myself, calling my husband's selection criteria into serious question.

It should come as quite a shock then to learn that no fewer than five men/boys/weirdoes have sought my hand, some with more aggressiveness than others. I think the most aggressive of the group had to be Crazy Italian Boyfriend. I will call him Guido. I met Guido at work and my-oh-my was he crazy. However, I didn't know this until later. On our first date his incomprehensible ranting was endearing--after all, I assumed he was showing his Crazy because he was perhaps a bit nervous on our first date together. And our second date. And our third date. It was on that third date that I came to the conclusion that his insanity was not a nervous mental tick, but rather his normal state of mind. It hit me right about the time we finished watching a movie and he turned to me and announced that he was going to marry me but we had to do it right away so we should go ring shopping as soon as possible. Overwhelmed by his romantic gesture, I swooned, "Excuse me?" To which he insisted this was the prescribed course of action, after which he gave me a rundown of his savings account and how much of a ring he could afford. "Must...escape...Nutty...McStraightjacket...." I whispered to my terrified myself.

It's here that I would like to abandon my Christian principles and pick the man apart. First of all, I dated him for his sexy uniform. He was a cop, complete with badge and gun and everything (more on that later). I will also admit that I found him more than attractive even in civilian clothing, let alone in the uniform (the rippling pectorals didn't hurt, either). He was genuinely kind to me--at first--and I found his Brooklyn accent amusing as well. A few conversations at work with him (he stopped me in the hall each time to talk to me, which was intensely flattering) and I was taken. Sure, he talked about odd things, but who doesn't have strange thoughts, right? So I decided to date him. And kissing him was fun, too (yes, I was a kissing slut. Shut up.).

When the real Crazy started to come out I learned that he was not the funny or entertaining kind of crazy, but rather the fricking scary kind of crazy. He would drop off photos to be developed at the drug store and use an alias. He never put down his address or his real phone number. When we decided to meet at a Metro subway stop to go into D.C. on a date, he pretended to be talking on a pay phone until I arrived so no one would know he was waiting for someone. He never sat with his back to the door. You know, stuff like that. Then he'd brag about the neighbors he'd spied on as a strange sort of father-son bonding activity he and his dad used to do when he was young. He suddenly decided he desperately wanted to work for the CIA, and he filled out their application in a second-grader's scrawl in pencil (he surely could have done no worse if he'd filled it out in crayon). I imagine his being thrown out of the Navy after only a few months in (for what he claimed was a problem with authority, but which later came out to be for psychological issues, like...wait for it...delusions of grandeur--the real kind) probably did not help his chances either (thankfully, they never called).

Guido used to regale me with his brilliant thoughts, all of which he repeatedly insisted were completely original, despite my having learned some of the very same concepts in my college Freshman entry-level classes (which he never believed). And he proudly invented inventions, brushing away my comments that they already existed. When I told my father about the insanity I had immersed myself in, he exclaimed, "You know, one day you're going to be watching the news and you'll see this guy on the steps of city hall, ranting and raving, wrapped in a Nazi flag, and you'll say, 'Hey! I used to date that guy!'" Indeed.

Why didn't I drop him sooner? The gun that he carried everywhere whether he was in uniform or not. Angering/surprising an armed, insane police officer is not my idea of bright. And frankly, I loved living at that time and did not wish to stop. So I kept dating him, putting off his matrimonial advances, and trying to gradually distance myself until perhaps he tired of me. I intentionally made comments that I knew he strenuously disagreed with. My favorite response came after I suggested that if a wife made more money than her husband she should go to work and he should stay home and raise the children. He FLIPPED OUT. Did I mention he disapproved of the fact that I had a job at all, saying that I was the cause of the decline of society? I asked sarcastically if I should be still sitting in my parents' house, waiting for a banker to knock on my door and propose marriage to me. He said yes. And he was very, very serious. Again, with the Crazy. So suggesting that a wife should be the breadwinner I think finally did the lad in and he never pushed the marriage issue after that. However, he still wouldn't leave me.

I had been looking for a good enough excuse to dump him--an excuse so obvious that even he would see the value in it--and I found it at Thanksgiving. A kind couple in his church congregation had invited him to their Thanksgiving feast and he invited me to go with him. He lived a good 45 minutes from me and traffic was terrible. I arrived at his place 15 minutes late. He had already left. No note. No directions to the couple's home. No nothing. I was angry, to say the least. I called his cell phone from a payphone nearby and he was already having dinner. He said I was late so why should he wait for me? I gave him my one good fricking reason, which he had apparently not thought about prior to my pointing it out to him. I hung up on him and drove home. I spent Thanksgiving in my apartment, alone. I was thrilled and relieved.

The following Monday after work I knew I would run into him on my way out the door. I asked my boss to walk with me, which he didn't mind at all. My boss was somewhat wide, and I figured if shots rang out I could use his body as a shield. I saw Guido standing near the exit, waiting for me. He asked if he could talk to me and I told him no. He asked again as I walked past, again telling him he could not, nor could he at any point in the future. I kept walking and lived to tell the tale. He emailed me a few times afterwards, which only set my blood pressure spiking, and he eventually stopped after my many angry responses pointing out his raving lunacy to him. He married some poor, young, unsuspecting thing, despite her mother's pleas to reconsider. And then he got fired for spying on his coworkers--something he found perplexing since he was positive that they were terrorists. "Stupid laws!" he complained. So. Very. Comforting.

Is there a moral to this story? But one: clearly, I am entirely and completely irresistible. And you can take that to the bank/asylum.

I Should Have Had a Model in a Sequined Dress

The results from the Post-it Note NieNie Free Book Prize Drawing are in and there are TWO winners! Yes, two winners! Why? Because I'm saintly. Also, because I decided that Heidi deserved a book no matter what, because within two hours of my quiz posting she had coughed up all of the answers, every whit correct on each and every one. She made me happy. It was also proved to me that the Fates wanted her to have one because I put her name in the drawing for laughs anyway and hers was the first name I drew out. So congratulations to Heidi! As soon as I get the books in the mail yours will be out the door to you.

And the second winner in the drawing was....Stephanie! Congratulations, Stephanie! She answered everything more or less correctly and got it in within the deadline I gave to her since my original deadline was before she even came home from vacation. So she got another day to get them in. Good job to her and to everyone who took the time to take the quiz and trip down memory lane with me in hopes of free prizes.

And now, for your edification, here are the answers:

1) Who or what do I consider my arch nemesis? Annapolis. Or more accurately, "the blasted city of Annapolis" as Stephanie, one of our winners you recall, answered.

2) Why is my kitchen linolium famous? There's a photo of it up on Cake Wrecks with my poopy Rudolph cake on top of it.

3) Who did Mark Austin tour with when I saw him in concert? Janis Ian. Remember, that's just one of the time when I got lost in Annapolis. You see how it all links together with me?

4) Say you chuck your model of the USS Constitution down two flights of stairs. Who could you get to fix that for you? Jerome Morris. Yes, that Mainer artist extraordinaire who indeed read my blog post about him and never spoke another word to me. I don't think he was nearly as amused as I was. I've said it before and I'll say it again: the theme of my blog is "It's funny when it's not you." On a related note, if you or your wealthy parents would like to pester Mr. Morris during a lovely and relaxing vacation to the coast of Maine, we rent our beautiful family cottage (it sleeps 6! Or 7 1/2 if you like couches!) out for the summer. Email me. We'll talk prices.

5) What is Michael Phelps's real name? Bob Carol. Oh, like he wouldn't be just as good at swimming with a name like that? Please.

6) What do I absolutely NOT OWN A COLLECTION OF? Barbie dolls. A non-collection that has grown since I last wrote about it, by the way.

7) Name one professional organization that is stalking me. DNC, NSA, FBI, Smithsonian . I'd tell them to give it up, but I fear I'm just too addictive.

8) Why is my dad so good at hiding Easter eggs? He is a former USAF intelligence officer trained in the art of being masterly sneaky. Or as Heidi, our first winner, put it, "Because he was a career USAF officer with Jason Bourne-like skills at hiding documents from the KGB-impersonating counterintelligence guys." Right on, Heidi.

9) They're foreign and ridiculously, unintentionally funny. Who are they? Celtic Thunder/Celtic Man. To quote Gwennifer, "I didn't realize it was possible to feel physically assaulted by a singing group, but I now know the feeling." So do the rest of us. So do the rest of us.

10) Who has mastered the art of the Evil Eye to the point of making me poop my pants? The ever-endearing, overly self-confident, and always entertaining Dr. Combat. Did I mention healthgrades.com tells you where your doctors work? And that it told me Dr. Combat is alive and still in the Army torturing others at yet another Army hospital? It's nice to know he hasn't been stripped of his natural environment.

Many thanks again to everyone who participated. I wish I was rich enough to give books to everyone who submitted answers because you all deserve it. For everyone but Heidi and Stephanie, go buy the book! If you buy the digital copy all proceeds go to the NieNie Fund; the hardcopy version gives all proceeds minus $8 printing costs. Hurry! Buy it! Be famous by association! And do something nice for a nice couple with four nice kids who suffered unmeasurable tragedy. Go. Buy. Help. And feel good about yourselves afterward.

Free Books and Quizzes for NieNie

Hey, hey, hey, remember when I told you about that blogger book that was being made for the NieNie Recovery Fund? And how a bunch of funny blog entries were chosen from 43 different authors (even me if you can stomach that) to make up this book to make it as funny as possible? And that all profits would go towards helping pay for the Nielson's medical bills and such? And how I would give you more information once the book was ready for purchase? WELL HANG ON TO YOUR HATS, 'CAUSE THE BOOK IS HERE. Grab a Kleenex if you have to.

SO. How can you procure this marvel for your very own coffee tables to wow and impress your friends, family, and unwanted houseguests (assuming they aren't all one and the same)? By clicking here, you silly ducks! Now, you'll also note that there is a downloadable version, allowing you to obtain The Brilliance within minutes rather than days, plus you avoid that mindboggling $5 shipping charge. On the other hand, you won't have anything to show off to people, plus it's hard to read it in the bathroom like that unless you drag your computer in there with you (if you do this, please don't tell me). But I'm not your mother so do whatever makes you happy. You know, just as long as you spend at least $19.60 (or multiples thereof) in the process.

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE. If there are two things my readers have in common, it's that they're incredibly cheap and lazy. I am nothing if not accommodating in this regard. This is why I've sold my soul for charity and will host The First and Hopefully Only Delusions of Grandeur Giveaway!! Here's how this will work. This will work for all you tightwads out there since as the prize you will get one hardcopy of "Something Cleverish" for your very own on my dime. As an added bonus, you will be getting the Special Limited Edition of "Something Cleverish!" Why so special you ask? Because I will personally forge all 42 autographs of every other author in the book, accompanied by personal wishes from each and every one! I will now place my fingers in my ears since I hear you all screaming something about illegalities and lawsuits. LA LA LA LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU, MY CHARITABLE HEART IS DROWNING OUT ALL OF YOUR BUMMER WORDS.

For all you lazy folks (same folks mind you), you won't be as into this next part. You'll have to answer questions to get it, and don't tell me it ain't gonna happen because at least one person already said she'd do it; if you don't want her to get it, then get on the ball. The person who answers the most questions correctly (emailed to me; any answers posted in the comments section will be deleted) will get a FREE book either hand delivered or mailed to his or her very own residence! If more than one of you actually bothers with this and answers the same number correctly, I'll close my eyes and choose at random. Fair enough? Good. Then the rest of you hosers will have to buy the book on your own. (Remember! It's for charity! And it's funny! Buying it counts for 25+ points for getting into Heaven.) All of the answers for this quiz can be found within the bowels of this blog (i.e., you don't have to know me to get them right). All responses are due in my inbox by Tuesday (the 20th) night at midnight EST. And...GO!

THE DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR QUIZ OF A LIFETIME

1) Who or what do I consider my arch nemesis?

2) Why is my kitchen linolium famous?

3) Who did Mark Austin tour with when I saw him in concert?

4) Say you chuck your model of the USS Constitution down two flights of stairs. Who could you get to fix that for you?

5) What is Michael Phelps's real name?

6) What do I absolutely NOT OWN A COLLECTION OF?

7) Name one professional organization that is stalking me.

8) Why is my dad so good at hiding Easter eggs?

9) They're foreign and ridiculously, unintentionally funny. Who are they?

10) Who has mastered the art of the Evil Eye to the point of making me poop my pants?

See? Too easy. Remember, no answers in the comments; please email your answers instead. Feel free to use the comments section to ask questions about the blog book, though.

Seriously though, buy the book. Everyone always says to themselves, "Gosh, I'd love to help but I don't know how!" Here's how. It even makes it easy by taking PayPal. Go on. Do the right thing: buy and feel good about it now, and then feel amused several days from now. It's win-win.

And YOU Thought I Wasn't Funny

The list of chosen authors for the NieNie Recovery Fund Book have been named and, miraculously, I'm one of them. Time to get down off the chair and untie the noose, Abby, you're going big time (for charity of course)! This is quite an honor indeed, since out of 350-400 (Sue liked to keep us guessing apparently; that, or she's senile and/or crazy) entries, only 40 (including Sue herself, and quasi-celebrities like Eric D. Snider and Seriously So Blessed's TAMN) were chosen. Holy crap.

A lot of you are here from Sue's blog and to you I say welcome. And I'll hazzard a guess and say most of you are also here wondering how on earth I got picked, seeing that I'm clearly unamusing in every sense of the word. I'm assuming I got picked pretty much because my post had exactly the right number of words they were looking for to fit in the book. I'm talented that way.

A great big thank you to Sue and her fellow judges for choosing my Post That Shall Be Unnamed Forthwith Upon Threat of Dismemberment By Sue. And even though I was going to name her in my suicide note if I didn't get picked, I still wouldn't have been angry if I hadn't been on Sue's short list in the end. Because, seriously.

Details about the book (includes 10% more Abby than last week!) and how you can purchase this wonder in publishing achievement will be forthcoming.

Be Funny or Else!

OK, here's the deal. As many of you now know, a young couple, Christian and Stephanie Nielson, barely survived a serious airplane crash and now have extensive burns over a good portion of their bodies. A recovery fund has been set up to help pay for medical expenses and the care of their children while they remain in the hospital for a number of months. An explosion of concern has swept the blogging community, including at one blog I stalk, Navel Gazing at Its Finest. As a fund raising gesture, Navel Gazing, et al, is creating a blog book with proceeds to be donated to the recovery fund for the Nielsons. Entry into the blog book is a contest of sorts, the details to be found here. Basically, they're looking for funny stuff. And by stuff, they mean blog entries, previously posted or not, less than 1500 words. The deadline for submissions is September 30th; all entries can be emailed to sometimeslifeisfunny at gmail dot com. If your post is selected you make it into the book and you then have to buy said book. Also, if the post you submit is new material (unposted) and it happens to be the funniest thing she's read by this Friday, you get $50 from Navel Gazing. So by all means, write away.

Here's my dilemma. First problem: the submissions have to be funny. If they're not deemed funny enough they'll be rejected. Second problem: it's pretty hard to be funny on demand and with a deadline. While I don't need the $50, I would love to submit something new, but I can't think of a frickin' thing to write about. That leaves something I've already published, except I have no idea what's funny in my blog and what isn't. The things that have cracked me up have gone largely unnoticed and things I found only mildly amusing or a complete failure were met with a several compliments. Clearly, I'm only funny on accident (which is about par for the course).

So to all three of my beloved readers I submit this plea to you: if you had to choose a favorite post (i.e. one you found the least offensive to your sensibilities) what would it be? Failing finding anything remotely funny in my archives, what would you have me write about? And while you're at it, submit something of your own. You could get published in a book! W00t!

Note: photos are discouraged, which means posts that rely heavily upon photos (like the Dora cake post) would probably be rejected simply based upon that alone.

2nd Note: I can rewrite any post to make it fit the requirements and any post that is not standalone I can make standalone--mostly this works because all of my posts are under the word count limit so I have room to make necessary story adjustments. Given that, have any suggestions? Any funny stories you and I have that I've never written about?