One of my coworkers recently got The Very Best of Enya for Christmas from her Secret Santa.

She can’t wait to find out who her Secret Santa is. Neither can I. I am going to kill her Secret Santa when I find out who they are. No, seriously, I am going to straight-up murder this woman’s ass. Because ever since my coworker got this CD, she has been playing it non-stop.

Sure, it’s at a low volume. Doesn’t matter. It’s Enya. Her whale-noise singing permeates every barrier known to man, including the crust of the earth. Wonder why we haven’t been attacked by mole people lately? Enya scares them away. (It’s the only good thing she’s ever done for humanity, though, personally, I’ll take the mole people any day.)

Enya is like being force-fed a sedative through your ass.

Enya is like falling asleep on top of an anthill.

Enya is like getting a bear hug from an actual bear.

Enya is pretty much the worst thing ever.

You all know how I love the Lord of the Rings and how I saw all the movies, like, a stupid number of times when they were in theaters? The first time I saw Fellowship of the Ring, I was sitting there all in love with this wonderful adaptation of a book that I’d been reading since I was a kid and trying to work out if it would be possible to kidnap Billy Boyd without sabotaging the other two films in the series, and then “May It Be” came on over the closing credits, and I just sort of sat there trying to figure out what I was listening to and why did that sound familiar and HOLY MOTHER OF PAIN, IT’S ENYA! NOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

From that point on, when I saw the movie again, I stuck my fingers in my ears and fled from the theater at the end of the film.

I know Enya’s supposed to be like an auditory tranquilizer, but her voice has the opposite effect on me. Listening to Enya pisses me off. And if there is anything I don’t need here at work, it’s another reason to be pissed off.

And just because I have fun writing them, he are some more descriptions of what Enya is like:

Enya is like going to the Met to see a William Hung concert.

Enya is like eating a marshmallow covered in thumb tacks.

Enya is like a down pillow with a dead hamster in it.

Enya is like drinking Bailey’s Irish Cream out of the toilet.

Enya is like jumping on a king-size feather bed and getting decapitated by a ceiling fan.

Enya is like waking up to find a fluffy cat curled up on your chest and a fluffy skunk curled up on your face.

Enya is like taking a Caribbean vacation with a corpse.

I’ve been sleeping poorly laetly, so I decided to have two cups of coffee this morning instead of my usual one. This will always be a bad decision. More than one cup of coffee makes me defy all that is good and reasonable in this world and turns me into something that is both sluggish and jittery. At the same time.

It also makes me extremely nauseous. So I’m sitting here, occasionally (and discreetly) spitting into my garbage can. A few minutes ago, someone from another department walked into my cubicle to talk about something work-related. She was filling me in on some claims situation or something when I made a very obvious and wholly spontaneous gagging motion. It was… er… unproductive, but still. I gagged and retched a little bit, right there in front of my confused and frightened coworker. I tried to daintily place my hand in front of my mouth and play it off as a hiccup, but I know she didn’t buy it.

I’ve been sitting here trying to think of some explanation I could give her. I’ve even considered sending a “Sorry I almost threw up on you” email. I feel like I should offer an explanation, because, as many of you should recall, there’s a strong possibility that my boss thinks I’m a drunk, and if this gets around, she might get the impression that I’ve come to work hungover, not once, but twice in the last three months.

At the same time, though I can’t really resist the temptation to mess with the woman:

“Sorry about earlier. I thought that dream I had about an alien planting eggs in my chest via my esophagus was due to all the Vicodin I’ve been taking, but now I’m pretty sure I need to track down John Hurt and ask for some professional advice.

Have a nice day!”

So, really, I think this is a case in which it would behoove me not to say anything at all.

I’m not at work. I’m at home. I’m writing this from bed, pirating the neighbor’s wireless connection. I’m at home and in bed because I’ve pulled muscles in my neck, shoulder, and right arm.

Wanna know how I did it?

Of course you do.

Did I overextend myself trying to save a kitten that fell off the roof of the building? Did I pull something while executing some bitchin’ moves in an impromptu dance competition with some classically trained street urchins? Did I at least suffer this injury during a death match with the dark stranger who murdered my wife and who I felt I must deal with vigilante style because the police weren’t following the right leads?

Well? WELL?!

No. None of those. I’m laid up in bed for at least the next day and a half–and possibly the rest of the week–and on a combination of an anti-inflammatory, a muscle relaxer, and pain medication because, while I was reaching for some paperwork in a far corner of my desk this morning, I sneezed.

That’s it. I didn’t want to tease you with an ellipsis, lead you believe there’s more to the story. Like I sneezed… and was THEN attacked by NINJAS, who hit me on the shoulder before I destroyed them in a single-handedly in a totally awesome and bloody battle royale!!1! I just sneezed.

I’m going to go to sleep now and dream of a world in which I’m not such a huge magnet for shit like this.

From Hoops, via Pancho:

Man Punches Another He Accuses of Being a ‘Zombie’
Monday, October 26, 2009

IOWA CITY, Iowa — Iowa City police are investigating an early morning assault in which a man accused another of being a zombie, then punched him twice.

Police say the assault occurred at 1:17 a.m. Sunday at an Iowa City restaurant south of the University of Iowa campus.

A man was ordering food when he was approached by another man who called him a zombie, then hit him in the eye. When the victim tried to call police on his cell phone, the man punched him again, breaking his nose.

The man then ran out a back door.

The victim was taken by ambulance to a hospital.

I am so using this excuse if I go shopping on Black Friday. “That’s MY $15.00 Betsy Johnson purse, you $%#@ing zombie!” *punch*