These Are a Few of My Many Smells

Remote: You smell like beer and cigarettes, you smell like a bar.

I *know* he thinks it's hot...

My Favorite Piece of Shit Joke

I don't know why it always makes me laugh. Probably because there are so many levels to it with which I disagree. And it was told to me in sincerity...

Why did god give women yeast infections?

So they could know what it's like to live with an irritated cunt too.

Mop Bucket List! (dedicated to Mary C. [with love!])

1. Throw all the kids carts in the baler (CRUSHER!!!)

2. Use wine to mop up spills!

3. Eat all the samples and drink ALL the juice!

4. Reverse face all sections (labels in bitches!)

5. Ask customers if THEY can help ME!

A Day in the Life

Remote: You smell like pickles and cigarettes.

Me: I know you meant that I smell like a woman.

maybe i should go walk in the goddamn street

The FUCK Chicago?! Every time I walk down my street, some douche-lord is riding their bike on the goddamn sidewalk. It was mildly irritating the first few times, but now, it just pisses me the FUCK OFF. I can't even count how many times some asshat has almost ran me down from behind. Fine, if you're under 17 and ride on the sidewalk, but grown fucking men can navigate on the fucking street. I'd be safer on the road, walking next to traffic and goddamn parked cars. I'm walking and therefore the goddamn most important person. I don't care if that makes me PEDESTRIAN. I want to carry a stick and samurai-sword that shit in these goddamn motherfuckers goddamn spokes. Bitch.

Customers Are HILARIOUS! Sometimes...

Customer: Where are those...umm...dried cranberries?

Me: Oh...here they are...*points at shelf*

Customer: WAIT! DRIED POMEGRANATE SEEDS! THAT'S WHAT I NEED! SUPER-FOOD RIGHT? KEEPS AN OLD FUCKER LIKE ME ALIVE!

Oh My! Tea Tree Tingle Shampoo...

I don't usually write reviews or anything. But Trader Joe's Tea Tree Tingle Shampoo is pretty awesome. It feels like I dipped my head in a liquid Altoid. It's going to be a good summer.

One of My Favorites

My friend Pit Pat was closing the loading door at work one day when, as it was sliding down, it knocked some boxes over. And after he closed it a girl walked into the back room.

Girl: What was that noise?!

Pit Pat: Do you believe in ghosts?

Girl: Yes...

Pit Pat: It was a ghost.

They Call it "Lost" Cuz That's What Happens to Your Days Off

Yeah. I started watching "Lost". I stopped being a snob and jumped right in. My days off consist of watching this blasted T.V. show. I need to find out what happens. Also, whoever writes this shit is probably the biggest douche-canoe because you just know that anyone that good at avoiding answering questions either worked for George W. Bush's administration, or should have.

In Which I Remember That I am a HERO!!!

I was sitting around today thinking about how I wish I could be a hero. Then I remembered that I AM! Or was, depending on how you look at it.

Once one of my friends wandered off drunk around some train tracks...and about ten minutes later I heard a train coming, and remembered that he had disappeared. I searched for him and found him passed out drunk on the tracks. I couldn't wake him up. So you know what I did? I fucking picked that motherfucker up and carried him to safety. Guess what? No one remembers. But I do because I was mostly sober, and definitely more sober than anyone else there. So, YOU'RE WELCOME RANDY. And thank YOU for making me a life-long hero.

Also I once saved a nest of baby birds from being fed milk by an old crazy polish roof fixer. And not once, but fucking TWICE, I stopped traffic and carried turtles to safety. YOU'RE WELCOME BIRDS AND TURTLES.

But, saving people is cooler than saving animals. Unless the animal saved a person once, cuz then you kinda owe them.

Things Not To Say In Therapy:

Heath: I guess I do do that sometimes.

Me: Did you just say that you doo-doo?

Eat My Leftovers, Eat My Shit: A Choose Your Own Adventure Meal

Me: I’m so happy to be home! Time for my awesome pizza leftovers!

Heath: Um…I ate them…

Me: No you didn’t! *opens fridge*

Me: WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY LEFTOVERS?!!!

Heath: I just told you, I ate them.

So, now what? This goes on all the time and nothing is ever resolved. I finally, in a fit of rage and anger, came up with a solution…I says to him, I says:

“The next time I put leftovers in the fridge, I am going to put a little piece of my poo in them. Then you will learn.”

This seems to work. Maybe only if you are bat-shit insane enough to actually do it. (Which I am [and Heath seems to know this]).

Try it on your boyfriend/girlfriend/roommate or whoever it is that eats your leftovers. Just a helpful hint at taste bud joy from your friend, Emily Illinois. XOXO!

I'm Not Putting That There...Oh Wait, I Just Did.

The first time I used a tampon was unremarkable. I was going to a dance and my friend gave me one. I had about as much fun that night as I ever had at a school dance: none. But it did start a better life for me, full of tampons and menstruation fun.


My sister on the other hand has a better story. The first time she used a tampon she imagined it sucking up all the fluid in her body. She then threw up and got to stay home from school.


I wish that happened to me.

This Was Found Floating In My Head

I used to work at a photo development store. The owner would sometimes keep copies of pictures that were weird or funny, even though it was probably illegal or something. Mainly he kept pictures of naked women or people doing stupid shit. Even though it was ten years ago, I can’t get these two pictures out of my head. I decided to badly reproduce them here for your enjoyment. You’re welcome.






And I censored these because I didn’t feel like showing you how badly I draw body parts. You’re welcome again.

And Then I Walked Away

This happened at work the other day while I was leaving my register.


Customer: “I was worried that you weren’t old enough to ring up all this wine I’m buying.”

Me: “No, I’m twenty-eight, definitely old enough.”

Customer: “Yeah, I was gonna say, if you were seventeen, you’d look like shit.”


I’m sensitive about my age now. And my face.

In Which I Learn Something About Myself:

Last night Heath (my boyfriend) and I were sitting around eating apple pie. I remembered, after we had finished eating, that I had actually bought awesome chocolate earlier. Second desserts are a favorite of ours (mine, actually because I’m a glutton)… This is the conversation that followed:

Me: “HEATH! I have something for you!”

Heath: *narrows eyes and tilts head* “Is it a fart?”

I guess that’s what I say every time I fart.

Open Letter: To Firemen

Dear Firemen,

I watched a bunch of you out of my window last night. It made me feel like a creep to peer out of my blinds like that at one-thirty a.m., but I was curious about what was going on out there. The house was on fire two houses away, but since I couldn't really see that, I watched you guys instead.

And my question for you is: Why do I think you guys are so hot? (Pun intended).
Obviously the hero and danger factors top the list, but there is so much more to my feelings. I love the sound of a fireman running. I couldn't tell you why, maybe it’s the thumping of your huge boots and the clicking of all the buckles on your jackets that does it for me (I've always had a thing for buckles). Maybe it’s the obvious brawn underneath your uniforms (you have to be strong to carry a zillion pounds of equipment). The fact that a fireman always runs with purpose might be the answer I'm looking for here.

I fear though that most of you would bore me to death after five minutes. So, what’s my problem? It scares me that I could be attracted to some of you long enough to try to justify the use of the word 'Bub' or the saying of the word 'sassage'. Oh well, I guess I'm just a victim of my own hormones or something.

But let me admit something to you that I have never admitted before (because what is the fun of blogs if there is no really secret information divulged?) When my house caught on fire when I was in high school, a certain school cop who was apparently a volunteer fireman showed up at my house. I had reasons for not liking him, but as he stood in my driveway in his fireman get-up I thought to myself, 'Damn, our school cop is hot.' And that’s when I knew I had a problem.

Thanks for being hot hero's, you stallions of danger,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Woman on the El

Dear Woman on the El,

Bitch.

I was sitting down on the train. You were talking to your friend. You both had just gone to Dunkin' Donuts and you had a coffee in one hand and a half eaten bagel in the other. Do you even remember me?

I remember you. Mainly because you were letting your bagel crumbs fall on my head and bounce off my glasses. Who the hell holds on to the pole on the train with food in their same hand? That's just fucking sick. Especially after last week when I saw a guy sneeze into his hand then grab the pole. But, back to you.

As that crumb bounced off my glasses, I knew that I could actually murder someone in cold blood.

Hope to see you soon!

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Flying Buttresses

Dear Flying Buttresses,

I understand that you are important to load-bearing walls...but...really...do you know what you remind me of?

Just Checking,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To "Always"

Dear 'Always',

You are a deceiving word. You should be pronounced: all-ways,
but are actually pronounced all-wheeze. Or. Hmmm. Maybe that is just the way I say it?

I will be thinking about this now,

Emily Illinois