Thursday, December 29, 2005
That's not really true. I mean, yeah, I take my own disposable cups and ping pong balls to parties but I don't make people play.
I hope you know that's not true, either.
I think I'm getting a cold. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that it was 55 degrees yesterday and today when I walked outside I was surprised to note that my car was covered in snow. Thanks, Ohio. Now go fuck yourself.
I should probably also mention that I took some cold medicine earlier and it made me feel really weird. I'm not taking it again (at least not before work) but I'm pretty sure it was just generic Advil cold and sinus. Do they put something weird in generic medicine? The only other stuff I had were these generic Dayquil tablets, but those are what my mom took before she had her "episode," so I didn't really want to risk it. Maybe this is a sign that I should stop buying generic medicine. Or that something is wrong with me and I should go to the doctor. But I hate the doctor, so no.
Last night, I went to collect my parent's karaoke machine for Saturday, because my friends and I just aren't quite loud enough on our own. My neighbors, the ones who were there when I locked myself in the mailroom and the ones who see me take my garbage out wearing penguin pajama pants, probably wondered why someone was singing an off-key version of Hit Me Baby, One More Time last night. That was me. Sorry. 867-5309? Guilty!
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The one thing I've always felt the surest about is my writing. You know how everyone is good at at least one thing? Writing has always been the thing I'm good at. It was always my story that was chosen to be read aloud to the class. The best compliments I have ever received have been about my writing. Maybe they weren't the best, but they felt like the best because they meant the most. And you guys? You guys make me feel good about my writing, too. Every comment you leave warms my cold, dead heart. Seriously. You have no idea.
And yet, I still don't write. I make excuses for not even trying to get published. I don't know what to write, I don't know who to send it to, it's not like anyone would ever publish my crap anyway. That's the thing, though. I'll never know unless I actually write something and SEND it. So, right now, I am putting my New Year's resolution here, in print, for all the world (or the 30 of you who read this) to see. I will try at least three times this year to get something published. It doesn't have to actually BE published, I'm not expecting that at all, but this is the big step. The one I am having the most trouble making. And hopefully I won't fall flat on my face.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Just kidding. I don't have a point.
Anyway, at this Christmas party, we exchanged said gifts. Only instead of Secret Santa we called it White Elephant. But because I had seen The Office that week I kept calling it Yankee Swap even though people just gave me those weird, sideways glances that silently say, "I would rather eat my own arm than ask you what you're talking about." It's OK. I'm used to it. Jim is right, though. It really should be called "Nasty Christmas," because Yankee Swap is mean. Ok. So, I was number two so I had the worst position except for one other person. That person had number one. Duh. I chose a new gift even though she had gotten this really cool light thing (it must have made quite an impression because I don't remember what it was) because I didn't want to be mean. Anyway, my gift was this obviously-from-Target-but-I-didn't-care-because-I-love-Target-see-earlier-entry coffee cup and saucer, with cookies and candy and coffee inside. And since I am addicted to coffee I almost opened the bag and started snorting it but I contained myself, in case anyone ended up stealing my gift. Although, now that I think about it, sticking my nose in the coffee might have ensured that no one would take it.
Things were going along smoothly. I was quietly holding my gift, trying to blend into the scenery so no one would take it. The next few people, too nice to steal other's treasures, chose new gifts. Then it was Esther's turn. Her name is not really Esther. I could see her eyeing my precious coffee set. She stood up, walked over, and snatched it out of my lap. NOOOOOOOOO! I was devastated, and then I realized I got to open another present. So I did. Suckers. This gift was even better. A basket of bath salts and lotion and a DVD copy of Steel Magnolias. Oh my god! If there is anything I love more than coffee it is southern belles and melodrama!
Unfortunately, I did not get to hold onto my gift because someone stole that, too. But since the present I had brought was the only one left to chose, I got to steal back the coffee set. Take that, bitches! I did not say that, but I'm surprised I didn't because I had had a lot of wine that night.
On the date above, I wrote the following words. They're really quite beautiful. No editing has been done.
Today I baby-sat Billy and Danny all day. Aunt Brenda wanted to go to the hospital. Grandpa is there because of his stomach (he'll be fine! *whew*) and she didn't want Grandma to be alone. My dad is being such a jerk. I waited an hour to get on the internet and then he says that no one else could get on tonight. It was not fair. And I had email to answer. It was only ten o'clock, just because Mindy was a brat no one could get on. We went out to dinner (Chili's) and I stuffed myself. Plus I drank 3 huge glasses of Coke, so I had to pee really bad by the time we got home. Dad told me I was being a trashmouth tonight. (Just because as we were leaving the hospital, I picked up a glove and asked if I could have a prophylactic*) Well, and I said a few other things. (I just guessed what song was gonna be on the radio. Weirdness.)
I really need to talk to Erica. She's been gone all week and got back tonight. But no, dad has to be a major dickwad! (How's that for a trashmouth, you fuckerhead fartass!**) Sorry, better go now!
Yeah. I'm pretty sure it's the best thing I've ever written.
*I think it's safe to say that I did not know any connotations of the word "prophylactic" other than rubber glove. So naive.
**Sorry, dad! Love you!
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
I don’t know what it is about Target, but I can lose hours in that store. I went in yesterday to look for a movie. I walked directly to the DVD section (without grabbing a cart OR a basket, hurrah!) and, even though they didn’t have the movie I was looking for I was there for an HOUR. I didn’t buy anything but I have no idea where that time went. I don’t have any memories of looking at anything in particular. Where did that hour go? Did a Target employee sneak up behind me and inject me with something, then drag me to a back room where my eyes were taped open and I was forced to watch Target commercials over and over? Is this the seedy underbelly of Target? The Target Mafia? Are all of those bulls eyes are some kind of subliminal mind control?
I don’t know. But I think I’m having withdrawal symptoms.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
I think I am just super paranoid that no one will come to my party, even though I know that's not the case, or that my party will suck and everyone will leave early. Which would so never happen because I am fun! I swear! Not dancing on the table topless fun, but let's laugh and sing and dance on the floor tops ON fun! I will not go crazy and start crying because everyone messed up my apartment like the hostess did at one party I went to. Also, I am always one of the last people to go to bed/pass out so I will not start cleaning up while people are still hanging out and having fun in "hint, hint, GET OUT NOW" fashion.
Aside from last year, every time any of us has tried to plan some sort of party for the New Year, plans fell through. We'd get tentative RSVPs and then people would back out at the last minute because, I don't know, something more fun had come up? Again, I must mention how fun I am so why are you backing out, like HELLO WHO DOES THAT. Oh, everyone, OK.
So. See you all December 31st. Don't be offended if you try to touch Phoebe and she bites you and hides under my bed. That is just her way. Don't be offended if I make fun of you or spill my drink on you. That is just my way. Party. Foul.
Write for AT LEAST one hour every day, and blogging doesn't count.
Um. Yeah. I'm gonna say I was unsuccessful with this one. Once again, I tried to do Nanowrimo and, once again, I failed.
Exercise in some way every day, even if it's not for very long and it's done while watching reruns of Friends.
I did a little better with this one. I did not exercise every day, but I was more careful with what I eat and I think I weigh about 20 pounds less now than I did last January, so whoohoo!
Watch less TV. For instance, do not sit in front of TV, channel surf, and then settle for watching Blind Date because nothing else is on. Turn the TV off and then open a book, or go work on numbers 1 and 2 (heh, that sounds bad).
Well, I don't have cable anymore so that kind of takes the fun out of channel surfing. However, I have gotten a lot more use out of my DVDs so this one is probably a wash.
Get dressed immediately after showering (and, of course, drying off) instead of sitting around in various stages of undress checking e-mail or writing in blog. This starts tomorrow, obviously, as I am currently writing this in my bathrobe.
Heh. If you could see me right now you'd know that I failed miserably with this one.
Job search for at least one hour a day OR send out two resumes a day.
I now have a job, which I've had for almost a year, but I think it may be time to take up this resolution again. Sigh.
Take fewer pictures of the dog with digital camera.
Easy, because I no longer live with said dog. Phoebe, on the other hand.
Stop drinking so many caffeinated beverages. Just because I have a Starbucks gift card DOES NOT mean I have to consume as many caramel macchiatos as I can within 24 hours. I'm drinking my third cup of coffee right now.
Be nicer to my sister, unless she throws water on me again.
Again, easy, because I no longer live with her.
Feed fish every day. And also change his water more than once every two months.
Ok. I have a confession to make. Fish is dead. He died a few months ago. I would like to say it was probably NOT due to neglect on my part, but I'd be lying.
Drink more water.
I drink so much water that I think my coworkers think I have some kind of problem. Why else would I need to go to the bathroom every five minutes and yet keep filling my water bottle?
Go to bed and get up earlier so I don't go into shock once I finally get a job.
I'm getting really bored with this. I think you probably are, too. Anyway, I don't do this even though I have a job.
To go along with number 11, stop staying up late trying to finish the last 100 pages of a book. When the chapter ends, put the book down and go to sleep because staying up until 4 AM because "the book was just TOO GOOD TO PUT DOWN" is probably not an acceptable excuse for missing work.
Although I've never used that excuse to miss work, it doesn't mean I COULDN'T have.
Travel to a state I've never been to before. It's probably easier to list the states I HAVE been to, so any states other than the following will count: California, Texas, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio (obviously), Kentucky, Tennessee, Michigan, West Virginia, Regular Virginia, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. Any other state is up for grabs, so if you live in one of the states NOT on that list, all I can say is WATCH OUT.
Wow, I don't think I went anywhere new this year. I couldn't afford it. That is just too sad for words. Except these words. The ones I am saying right now. Who would like to take me on vacation? I will let you pay for my room, food, and airfare, but I will pay for my own drinks. Believe me, you're getting off easy.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
PS: You can bring Steve Carell, if you really want, but he has to sleep on the couch and tell me stories about working on The Daily Show.
You have to speak up to be heard at these gatherings. Rather than take turns speaking, we prefer to talk over each other so that eventually everyone is talking and you can only pick up bits and pieces of conversations. This makes it difficult to play a game like Scene It, especially when half the people playing have had more to drink than to eat.
I would just like to point out that the first game of Scene It we played, even though my team lost, there were VERY SPECIFIC REASONS. Shut up, I am not being a sore loser! The first couple of rolls we weren't sure of the rules and my team didn't get to keep going as long as we kept answering questions correctly. Which we WOULD HAVE because this is a game where all of my obsessive movie watching pays off. ALSO. My team was the only team that consisted of only ONE adult and I don't even know if that adult COUNTS as an adult because it was me.
The second game, however, when we actually knew the rules and the teams were a little more evenly distributed . . . we totally dominated, even though we were screwed out of one answer because we said "oven mitt" as opposed to "RED oven mitt," like who is the sore loser now, MOM? Hee. I think this game will probably be added to the list of games my family can no longer play (along with Trivial Pursuit) because people (ok, me) took it too seriously.
And another thing, Uncle John, The Royal Tenenbaums IS NOT a horrible movie, it is awesome.
Friday, December 16, 2005
So instead of storytelling tonight, I drank some wine, pretended I wasn't angry, and wrapped Christmas presents. And I'm just not sure that's a good combination.
Last night, we had our office Christmas party at a co-worker's house. Sometimes I forget that everyone I work with is older than me, by at least five years, and all but one of them have kids. I am always surprised to be reminded of this, such as last night when they started talking about horrifying things that happen when you give birth. Tearing and pooping and cutting, oh my! The more I hear about the birthing process, the more I start thinking about adoption. I really do not want a room full of people staring at my hooha for hours and hours.
Hmm. What else happened this week? Oh, well, the construction workers cut through our cable at work, so we were without internet for a couple of days. You may be thinking, "oh, boohoo, Jennie couldn't check her e-mail every five seconds, poor baby," but SHUT UP RIGHT NOW because the software we use is all web based so we were screwed like a whore with twelve kids who's broke at Christmastime.
I also met a ginormous lawyer the other day. Not fat ginormous, but tall ginormous. He was sitting down when I met him so I didn't think there was anything abnormal about him, except his weird facial hair, but when he stood up I was all, "Holy shit, you are twice as tall as me! Nice bellybutton! I could stand on your palm and do back flips like that dog on the TV! You know the one! Did I make that up? Sometimes I do that! Oh my land, you are the tallest man I have ever seen close up!" And although I am very short and even a regular tall person towers over me, still I could not believe how tall this giant man was. I swear he had to duck when he walked out the door. I feel I must add that he was not my lawyer. I have not done anything illegal. That anyone else knows about.
ANYWAY. I also learned how to tie my scarf so it looks all neat and sophisticated when you put on your coat. You may not think this is a big accomplishment, but after wondering for so long how women do that I'm pretty happy to have finally figured it out. Ok. I didn't figure it out. Someone told me. But I don't care because my scarf looks awesome. I kind of want to wear it everywhere I go. But I won't. Unless it's cold. Then I will. I don't want to get frostbite of, you know, the neck or something.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Despite being a major inconvenience and sometimes causing catastrophic patio cover incidents, I usually enjoy the snow. At least for the first couple of weeks. Right now, it still looks all bright and pretty but I'm sure by January I'll be complaining EVERY DAY that I had to clean my car off/wear two coats/treat my frostbite.
I definitely need to invest in a pair of good snow boots, especially judging by the half-assed job my apartment complex did of clearing the place of snow. I know there are only a few maintenance workers and I'm sure it sucks to have to spend the majority of your morning shoveling heavy snow off of a zillion walkways but I don't even think they're trying. Why else would they pile snow right in front of the door, causing it to open only halfway and creating an interesting obstacle to try and hurdle? Also, I think they intentionally piled snow around my car so when I tried to clean it off without soaking my jeans up to the knee (remember that I'm very short), I was defeated each and every time.
Actually, I'm feeling pretty damp at the moment. My driver's side door wouldn't open this morning, so I had to get in on the passenger side, after cleaning my car off, and in the process of swinging myself over the cupholder (holding my precious coffee) and under the steering wheel, I pretty much got snow all over the driver's seat. Also, I think I may be wearing the world's most unflattering sweater today. It's a pretty color, but kind of shapeless and also it has all these weird lumps in it (besides my lady lumps). I just didn't care this morning. I may have gotten the sweater off of the closet floor. It's not dirty, I'm just too lazy to put things away when they fall off of shelves.
This is why I need to keep an extra set of clothing at work.
Well, that, and naptime accidents.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Maybe I missed the day they taught us to balance a checkbook*. I'm really good at writing expenses in my checkbook if I'm actually writing a check, because the checkbook is RIGHT THERE in front of me as opposed to where it usually is which is . . . I don't know because I can never find it when I need it. If I use my debit card, on the other hand, I'm not quite as good. Ok, I downright suck. Usually my statement is a big surprise, rather than a refreshing validation that I am a responsible adult. "Oh, I forgot I went to the movies and spent . . . seventeen dollars?! WTF?! It's a good thing they take credit card because I never have that kind of cash."
Sometimes I'll remember that I haven't written anything in my checkbook in a while and I try and round up all the rogue receipts in my possession. Most of the time, my wallet is full of more receipts than cash but somehow these nomadic slips of paper find their way all over my apartment. They're on the kitchen table, under my desk, stuck to the fridge with notes written on them, or, best of all, used as bookmarks in LIBRARY BOOKS. Brilliant.
For the past couple of days, I have been very careful with both my spending and my record keeping because, as I don't get paid until Friday and I'm running low on funds, I would like to avoid overdrawing my account and having to pay my bank exorbitant amounts of money. I have been driving myself nuts because the balance carefully (ha!) recorded in my checkbook does not match the amount on my online statement. Luckily, the bank is saying I have more money than I thought. But instead of doing what I'd normally do, which is rush out and spend the extra money, I've been going over and over my checkbook and statements, trying to find my mistake. Has one of my checks gone uncashed? Of course not. Maybe the bank doesn't have a record of all the money I spent at Target? Nope, all there.
Ten minutes ago, while flipping through the pages of my checkbook for the bajillionth time, the answer jumped out, waved, and punched me in the face and sweet, sweet clarity rushed over me. I had recorded two expenses twice. I didn't do it once, oh no, that might have been too easy to catch. I did it twice.
Oh, also I forgot to record spending $2.99 at Kroger. Who charges $2.99 at Kroger?
Is this a bad time to mention that in high school I used to forget to cash my paychecks until weeks, sometimes months, later? I'm not kidding. In fact, I seem to remember finding a library paycheck during the second semester of my freshman year of college, a full six months after I'd quit that job.
So. I think I need to get married so someone else can be responsible for the finances. Who's good with numbers?
*For the record, I don't think they taught us this in school. Instead, I took Calculus. Which, you know, I totally use all the time.
When your team consists of a widow and her three children who were left fatherless in a freak racetrack accident, you have quite a few built-in sympathy points before you even begin, so you know they really had to WORK for me to hate them so, so much.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
After my freshman year of college, I had accumulated an entire dormroomful of stuff (mostly due to my roommate moving out second semester and giving me more room to spread out) that I had to bring home to my already full room. When I got home, I went through EVERYTHING (and I do mean everything) in my possession, packed up six boxes of stuff I no longer needed for everyday use or couldn't bring myself to throw away, and shoved it all in the attic.
So, on Sunday, five years after packing that stuff away and forgetting about it, I had the pleasure of delving into my past. The best thing I found (better than yearbooks!), other than lots and lots (did I mention lots?) of pictures, was my 8th grade journal.
Wow. I was (was?) a tool.
Ok, sure, everyone is a tool in 8th grade. It's like a rite of passage. Child, Pre-teen, tool, adult. Every night this week, I've sat down and read a couple of old journal entries. It's a humbling experience. I make it about three lines before I cringe, blush, or close the journal and hide it in the freezer. I thought about sharing some of the more embarrassing entries here but I've only read a couple of pages so far. Once I'm done, I'll pick out the best (read: most cringeworthy) and post it. I can't wait. I'm sure you can't either. There's nothing more exciting than reading the thoughts of an overdramatic 13-year-old.
Because I've already crammed too much shit in any available crevice of my apartment (hee, that sounds gross), I went through all of the boxes and separated everything into one of three piles: trash, keep, sell/give away. Believe me, if I could give away the trash pile, I so would, but I really doubt anyone wants my old cheerleading trophies (shut up with your laughing). In case anyone is interested the sell/give away pile includes:
a guitar (that was not in any of the boxes, but it still needs selling)
a stuffed alien
several small figurines
Mulder and Scully dolls (again, with the laughing? shut it)
other crap I can't remember
Is it bad form to throw/give away a bible? It's not like I need it. When I asked my mom that question, she asked if I was worried that God was going to get me if I got rid of it. I said no, because if God were going to get me for anything it would be for NOT being worried about backlash from trashing a bible.
Monday, November 28, 2005
So, when the alarm went off I turned it off and then set it ahead by half an hour. Half an hour! What is wrong with me? That's why you don't make decisions when you're half asleep. Because when you're half asleep you're a deluded asshole. Don't argue with me.
I woke up a little while later and proceeded to flip out when I noticed that the clock said I was supposed to be at work RIGHT THAT VERY MINUTE. I jumped out of bed and got ready (sans shower) as quickly as possible, of course taking precious moments to make coffee because I was already late so I didn't want to be all sleepy as well. I ran out the door, got in my car and looked at the clock and thought, "Hey, it's half an hour earlier than I thought it was."
That's because I'm a freaking idiot. (Gosh!) Instead of setting my alarm to a later time, I had set the actual time ahead. Because apparently my bedroom is in a different time zone than my car and, in fact, the rest of my apartment.
On a completely unrelated note . . . does anyone think that JK Rowling is going to kill Harry Potter in the last book? My aunt and I were talking about this on Thanksgiving. Because my family talks about Harry Potter at our gatherings because we're COOLER than your family. ANYWAY. My aunt says that JK Rowling has already written the last chapter of the last book. Weird. Also, do you think Hogwarts is like a regular high school where girls have to leave because they get pregnant with little witches or wizards? And then they have to fight the Hogwarts school board to be allowed to march down the aisle at graduation in their giant, belly-covering witch robes? I hope that doesn't happen to Hermione, but I think I'd be ok with it if Ron were the father.
These are the things I think about. Are you scared?
Friday, November 25, 2005
I also doubt the intelligence of drinking a bunch of wine BEFORE dinner when all you've had to eat that day was a bowl of cereal, but hey, that's the way we do things in my family. And really, if you get kind of drunk before dinner you don't have to worry about a hangover because you'll be sober as soon as you eat those ten rolls* that will soak up all that wine.
It seems that pretty much everyone in my family, with the exception of my Grandma (thank you, baby Jesus), has found this blog, even my young, innocent, very impressionable cousins. One of whom found this by Googling my name, which, hmm, maybe I should fix that. But that means going back through all of my old entries, finding my last name and deleting it or changing it to something less conspicuous like "Smith," "Jones," or, well, anything else.
I kept joking that I needed to change my website address so I could start writing about my deep, dark secrets but the more I thought about it, I realized that I don't really have any deep, dark secrets.
Yet. I'm still young.
*I did not really eat ten rolls, but I think one of my cousins did
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
I don't know if you've noticed, but this day has lasted at least 45 hours already. I feel like it's Christmas eve but instead of presents I'm getting turkey, mashed potatoes (!!!), and stuffing. I love Thanksgiving, and even more now that I don't eat home cooked meals very often because that would mean I'd have to cook . . . at home . . . and that never ends well. I love that on Thanksgiving, gluttony is not only accepted, it's encouraged. Oh, America.
Monday, November 21, 2005
I need to find a better place to run, because it takes me about 10 minutes to walk all the way around my apartment complex and I need some variety. Also, I almost ran over some old lady who was walking her dog. It was one of those little ankle biters, and I honestly was scared for my life. Little dogs are so much meaner than big dogs. I have a theory that, because all creatures are inherently a little bit evil (stay with me), when said creature is small there is less room for the evil to spread out so the evil is more concentrated. Was Hitler short? That would explain a lot. As you can probably tell, this theory is not fully developed because I just came up with it.
ANYWAY. I also need to find a better (read: smarter) time to run. It's probably not the best idea to run around a parking lot in the dark. Also, I'm afraid to run at night wearing my MP3 player because someone might pull their car up, stun gun me, and throw me in the trunk and I wouldn't notice because I'd be listening to Spice Girls or something. I don't know why I said Spice Girls. I hate the Spice Girls. I don't even have any Spice Girls music. I don't know why I'm still talking about the Spice Girls, but how embarrassing would that be to get kidnapped while listening to a Spice Girls CD. Like, what if you were thrown in the van and your Discman fell on the ground and when the police got there they'd be all like, "haha, this girl listens to the Spice Girls, let's find her so we can make fun of her!" Although, if you'd just been kidnapped that would probably be the least of your worries.
I think I have too much oxygen in my brain right now. Or I'm just not used to the endorphins or something and that's why I'm all cracked out. My throat hurts from running outside in the (FREEZING) cold. It's not even that cold yet and I'm already whining, so this should be a fun winter. Who wants to go somewhere warm for the next couple of months? We don't have to tell our jobs, we can just pretend we got kidnapped. I have SO thought this through, can you tell?
Sunday, November 20, 2005
No, I am not drunk.
PS: My mom is out of the hospital, so yay! Of course, we still don't know what happened to put her there in the first place, but we're not dwelling on the negative! Did you hear that, brain?
Friday, November 18, 2005
I picked up my phone at the office and when a man said, "Jennie, it's your dad," I thought it was some kind of joke. It wasn't. It really was my dad, calling to tell me that he was in the ER with my mom.
He'd been trying to reach her early Tuesday afternoon because she's stayed home sick from work. When he couldn't, he came home and found her unconscious in the hallway. This was the only information I had when I rushed out of work on Tuesday, headed to the hospital. And just the thought of my dad finding my mom like that still gives me chills.
The drive from my office to Kettering seemed to take hours. Part of me was hoping for the best, another part was preparing for the worst, but mostly I just wanted to pull over and throw up. Dad had told me to drive cautiously to the hospital, but since driving cautiously has never really been my style I flew down the highway and swerved around slower cars like I was in a high-speed chase. Sorry, Dad. You understand.
My dad was the only one in the waiting room when I got to the ER. As soon as he saw me, he started crying and my heart jumped into my throat as I tried to prepare myself for the worst news possible. Luckily (?), she was back in the ER where they were preparing for tests. She was still unconscious and the general consensus at that point was that she'd had a seizure.
Within about an hour, the ER waiting room was full of people. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, and a lot of my mom's coworkers. My mom works at the hospital the ambulance took her to, and there is no doubt in my mind that she got special treatment because of it. My boss, who had seen the state I was in when I left work, brought my entire family pizza. I don't think we'd even realized we were hungry until we smelled it, but I could still only bring myself to eat a few pieces before I started to feel sick to my stomach again.
Let me just say right now that my mom is fine. She was in ICU for observation for two days, and they ran some tests, but long story short (haha) we still don't know what's wrong. And we actually know even less than we thought we did because the EEG showed that she didn't even have a seizure like we'd assumed.
It's hard for me to remember just how scared I was on Tuesday now that I know my mom is OK. We were at the hospital until midnight, not knowing what had happened, not knowing how serious it was, not knowing much of anything really. I have never been so mind-numbingly terrified for such an extended period of time. I don't really know what else to say. I'm slowly gaining perspective, I think, but it's only been a few days. Now we're just hoping that we get some clue as to why this happened, so we can avoid it in the future. Otherwise, whenever someone can't get ahold of my mom, they'll be rushing over to the house or calling every family member in the general vicinity or alerting the fire department/police/FEMA.
Hopefully, Mom will be home and rested by Thanksgiving. We have A LOT to be thankful for. That said, we've all decided that after Grandpa dying last November and this happening this November, next year we're just going straight from October to December. Let's not tempt fate.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Not the whole uniform. The pants are fine. But the shirts. The odious shirts. If there was a bonfire in front of me I would totally rip off my shirt RIGHT HERE AND NOW and throw it into the blaze.
I realize I'm being overdramatic. I get that. Especially since I OKed the shirts before they were ordered. They didn't look so bad in the catalogue and I was just so happy we were doing away with the white pants that I probably would have OKed clown pants.
I feel like throwing a tantrum. "But Moooo-ooom, I don't LIKE them." Stamp my feet. Throw things. Pout. Oh wait, I already am pouting. Check!
Maybe they'll get better. (Ha!) After all, today we are wearing the color I dislike the most. The other colors aren't so bad. I know I'm being a baby. They're just clothes. Right? I should just suck it up because there are worse uniforms. At least I don't have to wear flair, right?
Nope. Still hate them.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Sunday, November 13, 2005
This was probably one of those movies that I could have waited to see once it came out on DVD, but considering that I'd pay $6.50 to watch Clive Owen make toast I'm not too upset about it.
Why isn't he the new James Bond again?
Don't worry, they were my cousins. I have not opened a brothel, although that does sound like a fast way to make some extra cash.
I am the oldest of my cousins on both sides of the family. Most of them are at least ten years younger than I am, which means in junior high and high school I had a full babysitting calendar. Apparently, my Aunt Karen's kids, Zach, Josh, and Sammy, have been dying to see the magical place known as "Jennie's apartment," so I had them over to spend the night.
I knew the night would be fun when, in the car on the way to my apartment, they all started singing "Holla Back Girl" along with the radio. Even Zach, the 13-year-old who is too cool for everything (especially cutting his hair) got into it. And it is just lovely that I can embarrass him so easily . . . all I have to do is remind him that I used to change his diaper and his face gets so, so red. Speaking as someone who blushes at the drop of a hat, it's nice to be able to make someone else do the same. Sadistic? Maybe. But hey, that's family.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Seriously, though. I realize that not everyone "got" the show. But COME ON. You'd rather watch According to Jim? Freddie? The War at Home? All of those other crap CBS sitcoms? Yes, Dear is allowed SIX SEASONS?! WTF?? STACKED?! Fucking STACKED?!?! There are not enough question marks or exclamation points in the world to express my indignation.
The show also included a little girl having her chest cut RIGHT THE HELL OPEN and oh yeah . . . the man who kidnapped her and raped her? He got his chest cut open, too, and as they wheeled him away to surgery the floor was no longer a calming beige but BRIGHT BLOOD RED. The thing is, it didn't really gross me out but it just seemed gratuitous. ER has always been bloody, I mean duh, but it seems like they focus on it more now. Like, "Ooooh, look at how much blood there is, doesn't it look serious? Are you worried? No? Because you don't know the character's name and also you don't care if they live or die? Oh, but look, now you can see his heart! Look, it's all pumpy pumpy bloody bloody! Creepy!"
I stopped watching the show when Dr. Romano was crushed like a cartoon character by the same helicopter that cut off his arm. OH MY GOD was that stupid. I'm sorry, is he Captain Hook now? Are the surgeons his merry band of pirates? Actually, I think I turned off the TV and threw my remote in disgust the minute the helicopter came crashing down on his stupid, bald head.
Actually, the only reason I watched last night was because I saw a preview of Luka and Abby kissing and if there is ANYTHING that will get me to watch a TV show it is two people getting together. It doesn't matter who. If the US version of The Office wasn't funny (which, thank you baby Jesus, it is) I'd probably still watch because I want Jim and Pam to get together. I watched The X-Files because I wanted Mulder and Scully to get together. Alias? Sydney and Vaughn. Other ER couplings? Abby and Carter, Mark and Susan, George Clooney and what's-her-name. Friends? Monica and Chandler. What? You thought I was going to say Ross and Rachel, didn't you? Well, yeah, them too.
I figure, if I don't have any romance in my own life I can at least live vicariously through, you know, pretend people. Sigh.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Please stop killing people off before you get to Sawyer,
Stop with the crazy backwards talking. It's creepy. Also, here is a towel.
I'm sorry that your girlfriend died. That sucks, really, especially since she was just becoming likeable. I saw the murderous look in your eye, though. I think you might punch Ana Lucia in the face and I'm OK with that. More than OK. I'm not asking you to axe murder her, but if you could do us all a favor and shove some bamboo shoots under her fingernails that would be great.
Can I please have my life back? Thanks in advance.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Yesterday's experience was quite a different from last year's. Last year, I was ready to go all Xena Warrior Princess on any poll workers that tried to impugn my rights as a legal, voting citizen and was actually kind of disappointed when a lady who looked like my grandma handed me my ballot without question. Also, our county switched to the electronic voting machines so I didn't get the satisfaction of stabbing through cardboard with that little pokey thing. It wasn't quite as fun, let me tell you.
Perhaps the biggest difference was that I did not stay up until 5:30 in the morning praying and throwing little tantrums as the results came in. Which is good, because that much disappointment and hate coursing through my veins that early in the morning is just exhausting. Also, it meant no soul-crushing defeat today, which is awesome.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Which is why I settled for orange tights.
Since the weekend of Halloween, my friends and I all had prior engagements that did not involve dressing up, we had our party this past Saturday. You know, November 5th. The attendees? Napoleon Dynamite, Deb, Kip, Lafawnduh, a witch, Velma, and Heather and Steve, who were supposed to be a pregnant Britney and Kevin Federline but because of a pillow malfunction came as themselves wearing devil horns and a screws-through-the-head headband (does that make any sense) instead.
I was Velma, hence the orange tights, which I thought would be the perfect costume. And not just because I already had the orange sweater, glasses, and shoes. But because it was early November, I thought a sweater would be fine, absolutely FINE, to wear and I'd be nice and cozy and warm the entire night. Someone apparently did not get the memo that November is sweater season and it was like sixty degrees. I ended up taking the entire costume off around 11 and spent the remainder of the night as Pajama!Girl. Action figure coming soon to a store near you.
The award for Best Costume (oh, yes, there are awards) goes to Nick for his 3-in-1 outfit. He started the night as Napoleon. Then he lost the wig, but kept the suit and glasses and became Bill Lumberg. THEN (and this one was my favorite) he kept the glasses but lost the suit jacket, slicked his hair back and became Dwight from The Office.
The only downside of the weekend (other than it ended) was that my computer decided to not work and instead become a very heavy, very useless piece of modern art. Dear Internets and people smarter than me, please help. I don't know what to do about it. I don't know if it's salvageable. I can turn it on, but once I do it won't let me open any programs or click on anything. I hope I can fix it somehow because I cannot afford a new computer, however much I want one. I don't know if there is some kind of software that I can buy. I don't know if I should even bother.
Jinkies. I bet Velma would know.
Friday, November 04, 2005
It's been great so far. Their kitchen is full of food, unlike mine. If you open my fridge, you'll find some day old milk, bread, turkey, and condiments. Oh, and coffee creamer. You know, the necessities.
They also have one of those magical boxes called a "DVR." I'll admit, I've gone a little crazy with it. I've been living without cable for about six months now so all week I've been binging on I Love the 80's (version, like 7.0), Best Week Ever, and BEST OF ALL, The Daily Show. Oh, Jon Stewart, my love. I've missed you. I was seriously considering getting cable just for The Daily Show, but I can't justify paying at least $20 a month for one thirty-minute show. Sorry, Jon.
The only downside to being back at my parents (aside from not having any of my stuff and having to keep my dog away from Phoebe/her food/her litter box, like, good god, DOG, it's CAT POOP, why do you want to eat it?), is it makes my daily commute about 20 minutes longer. AND it means I have to take the dreaded highway during rush hour, at least in the morning, because by the time I leave work everyone else is already home, eating dinner and ignoring their kids, the bastards.
But, you people who do this EVERY MORNING . . . I don't know how you do it. I bow down to you. Because driving on the highway during rush hour fills me with such maniacal rage that I can't focus my eyes and I kind of want to throw up. This morning I think I may have scarred a high school student for life, but it's his own fault for CUTTING ME OFF and then SLAMMING ON HIS BREAKS in the freaking LEFT LANE. DO YOU SEE THE CAPS LOCK? I mean, at that point my middle finger has a mind of its own. There's no controlling that.
Every time I get filled with rage, this "road rage" if you will, I think of this part in Tuesdays with Morrie (not the crying parts) where Morrie talks about how he doesn't understand why people get so mad in traffic, because it's not like it will solve anything and it will probably just turn you into a drooling, jabbering monkey. And he's right. Me pounding on my horn and flashing my middle finger at every jackass on the road isn't going to make them stop driving like jackasses and it sure as hell doesn't make me feel any better. So, I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I turn up the radio. And then some idiot stops in the middle of the intersection, blocking all directions of traffic, and I think, "Easy for you to say, old man, you'll be dead soon."
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
It was not a very stimulating two hours, though. I spent most of my time drawing pictures in my sister's notebook of ligers, Napoleon Dynamite's sweet picture of his date Trisha (there's a lot more where this came from, if you go to the dance with me), and Spongebob being chased by a jellyfish in a ghost costume. Then I realized how cool I am and ate some more candy.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Anyway. The panic is starting. I know this will surprise EVERYONE, but the procrastination I so successfully employ whenever I have some kind of project has been here in full force since I decided to try NaNoWriMo again.
The problem is, I have a lot of ideas, but I have trouble picking one to focus on. Also, I always seem to have more small details for the story than actual plot. Last time, I just kind of picked an idea out of the air with no clue or plan for where the story would go and it sort of . . . fizzled. I wanted a plan this time. Not too much of a plan, but an outline of at least a few of the characters and plot points.
I guess I still have a couple hours to come up with one, but who am I kidding? I probably won't even attempt an outline until around 11 tonight. Or I'll just wing it again and start writing at 12:01 in caffeine infused mania. Sure, I could be smart about it and start planning when I get home from work, but why mess with the process?
Friday, October 28, 2005
Monday, October 24, 2005
I won't go into details, but work today just really got to me, and I can't think why. Nothing happened today that hasn't been happening since I've been there. The thought of going in tomorrow exhausts me. Is that normal? No one really wants to go to work, right, so is it a big deal that some mornings I'd rather jab myself in the eye with a butter knife than drag myself out of bed into an office that is mind-numbingly slow one moment and then moving at breakneck-can't-sit-down-or-even-eat-lunch speed the next?
I don't know. Maybe it's just the weather. It's so easy to blame everything on the weather when it's cold and gloomy and supposed to snow (snow!) or sleet or something else unpleasant. I hope my mood clears up soon, though, because the act of smiling and making nice with people is starting to make me twitch.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Thursday, October 20, 2005
My co-workers like to bring in little treats. Donuts, bagels, coffee cake, birthday cake. Instead of indulging in these treats, I will walk by them again and again, letting the sweet decadent scent in, letting my mouth water, and then walking away empty handed. Of course, it doesn't hurt that eating donuts always makes me sick to my stomach. If there are negative consequences, it doesn't really make for a very sweet victory. But when my boss brought in some banana bread yesterday, I fought really, really hard not to grab the entire loaf, run out the door and start a new life with my long-time lover . . . Carbs.
I don't know why I don't just give in. It would certainly be easier to stick my face into the cake, put donuts around my fingers like rings, and walk around with a giant french baguette, alternately taking huge bites and hitting people with it.
This morning, before I left for work, I stood in my bedroom doorway for a good three minutes staring at my sloppily made bed; the bed that was practically BEGGING me to kick off my shoes and climb back under the covers. And at that moment, negative consequences be damned, I really, really wanted to finally give in.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
As it is, I'm really getting to the point where I wish I had a brother so I could call him and say, "heeeeeey, brother." Or if I could have a Franklin doll, I think I'd be happy, too.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
For instance, if I hadn't had to leave work late tonight, I would have missed Weezer singing, "Say it Ain't So," on the radio. Those of you underestimating the greatness of this obviously have no idea what effect the pleasing qualities of Rivers Cuomo's voice can have on my mood.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
I'm not going to comment (other than this, of course) on the fact that I was YET AGAIN the single one out to dinner/lunch with a friend and her boyfriend, because, while at one time that would drive me into a "why don't I have a boyfriend" semi-funk, it really doesn't bother me anymore to be the one getting a single check at the end of the meal. Most of the time I just think I'd have a hard time fitting a boyfriend into my schedule.
Anyway, after lunch we went to Mike's friend's house, where there was beer and cornhole (the game). All of Mike's friends are either married, on their way to being married, pregnant, or with child. Heh. I just like writing "with child." Of course, they were all about five years older than I am, but still. Being around married people and parental types just reminds me how not ready I am for all of that stuff. I'll bet Mike's friends didn't have pretzels and coffee for breakfast yesterday, but guess who did. And I know I'm not ready for a child because when I think of giving up alcohol and coffee for 9 months (or more) I want to cry.
The house was nice, though. There was no clutter. No piles of books sitting everywhere or cat toys littering the floor like at my house. Granted, they may have just shoved all of that stuff in a closet like I do when I have people over, but I like to think that's something I'll outgrow.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Also, I make no sense, but maybe I would if I had been able to sleep without every little noise causing me to jolt awake in bed, pull my covers up to my chin and rapidly think, "whatwasthatwhatwasthatwhatwasthat??!?!?!" EXCLAMATION POINT.
Friday, October 14, 2005
I'm fairly certain that someone tried to get into my apartment last night. Or this morning. Whatever. Sometime around 4 AM, I woke up because I heard the blinds by the sliding patio door moving. They're those vertical ones that are super loud whenever they move. I didn't think much of it, because sometimes Phoebe moves them to look out the window or chase a bug (like a KILLER CRICKET, now THOSE are scary). Then I heard a huge crash and I thought I heard what sounded like someone trying to open the patio door but the lock was catching it. It's a very distinctive sound so that got me pretty freaked out but then I heard someone talking outside my bedroom window (which was open, I know shut up I'm retarded). At that point I sat straight up in my bed, heart pounding, kind of feeling like I might vomit, and ran to my bedroom door and locked it. I went back over the (still open) window and tried to listen but I couldn't tell if anyone was out there. Then I started doubting myself. You're being stupid, Jennie, it was probably just Phoebe knocking the fan over, no one is out there.
Finally, ignoring all the instincts gleaned from watching too many horror movies, I turned on my bedroom light, unlocked the door and walked into the living room BY MYSELF. Sure enough, the floor fan had been knocked over, which is probably what made the crash. I checked the patio door and it was still locked and there was no scary, hooded figure standing menacingly in the corner with a machete OR a chainsaw. I cursed myself for getting so freaked out over nothing, and then I looked closer at the door. It was still locked, sure, but the screen on the outside had been opened a few inches. Just enough for, say, someone to test and see if the glass door was unlocked. Commence Freak Out, part two: The Urge to Vomit Strikes Back. Actually, it wasn't so much a freak out as a slow walk back to my room, grabbing my cell phone and keys on the way, locking the bedroom door, and climbing into bed into the safety of my covers. I didn't sleep much after that. I really tried, but every time I heard a noise my eyes would pop open and my heart would start pounding and my brain would start screaming, 'KILL KILL KILL.'
When I got out of bed a couple of hours later, I again checked the screen door, hoping it had just been a nightmare. Nope, still open. I've been thinking about it (and thinking and thinking and thinking) and I'm guessing it was either some kids who wanted to mess around in an empty (or any unlocked) apartment or it was a crazed killer who wanted to cut out my eyes and entrails or it was a very polite zombie who didn't want to break my window OR it was just some run of the mill criminal who wanted to steal my TV and ALSO I should stop watching so movies.
Honestly, I'm more upset that my shirt has been on backwards for two hours and I just now noticed. Thank you, sleep deprivation. If I'd known someone was going to try to FREAK ME THE HELL OUT at 4 AM this morning, I would have gone to bed earlier.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Was I the only one who didn't want them to push the button at the end? I don't think I would have, just because I wanted to see what would happen if they didn't push it. I mean, what . . . would killer polar bears have been released from underground trap doors, like those tigers that almost ate Russell Crowe in Gladiator?
Now. On to Alias. Alias is now dead to me. As dead as the bullet-riddled Michael Vaughn! I hope Sydney's stupid baby turns out to be a Russian spy IN THE WOMB. Have the writers of that show learned NOTHING from what happened to The X-Files? You don't get rid of one of your leads, even if you say they will come back for guest spots. And if you do get rid of one of your leads, you do not add new characters who will most likely suck all over the place. Remember that time Mulder died? Not the first time when they blew him up in a boxcar full of aliens. Or the next time when Scully told everyone he shot himself in the face. Or the other time when it kind of looked like he died because they took out a piece of his brain. Or all those other times it looked like he might die. NO. I'm talking about the time he died and they buried him and then like 4 months later they dug him up and put him in a hospital bed and then poof he was alive. How stupid is that? I mean, there's only so much you can ask your audience to just accept without them finally throwing their remotes through the TV and writing you numerous death threats.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
I'm tempted to say that November has started already, because yesterday blew all kinds of balls, not just donkey, but if I step back and really examine the situation it's not THAT bad.
My car, as of right now, is at the mechanic's. After work yesterday, I ran into my apartment to grab some library books that are spectacularly overdue, but when I got back in my car and tried to start it . . . nothing. No problem. It's done that before. Last time, I let it sit and rest for a while and when I tried to start it again it finally did. This time? Not so lucky. I tried every 30 minutes, until my dad got there with the jumper cables, which also accomplished nothing, other than to let us know that we should go call a tow truck. Which we did. And then the tow truck driver tried and still nothing. We took my car to the mechanic's, where I'm already in for about a hundred dollars just for them to figure out what the problem is. Yay! I'm just crossing my fingers that it's nothing too serious.
For the good, though. My lovely parents were willing to lend me one of their cars so I could go to work today. My lovely father stood outside with me to wait for the tow truck and ALSO talked to the people at the mechanic's front counter, because what I don't know about cars could fill several large books and also a stone tablet. For other volumes of Things Jennie Knows Little to Nothing About, please see "Boys," "Time Management," and "Cooking." Last night, when I finally got home, I was so happy that I'd remembered to tape Arrested Development and Kitchen Confidential, because lawyer Bob Loblaw? I'm sorry, that's the best thing I've seen on TV, like, EVER.
Also, and this is totally off-topic, I've decided that if I have the opportunity to dress up for Halloween this year I'm going to be Punky Brewster, because . . . um, she's awesome? Yeah. And last night my mom and I were trying to remember the name of the dog, and I kept thinking it was Comet, but I just remembered that that was the dog on Full House and Google just told me that Punky Brewster's dog's name was Brandon (wtf?) and I JUST REALIZED that I probably watched/watch too much TV. The end.
Thank god that mystery is solved. And for my last piece of news, and I don't know if it's good or bad yet but I'll let you know at the end of November, is that I'm going to try NaNoWriMo again next month. Last year I completed, I think, about a fourth of a novel? I don't know, but this year I'm determined to finish a whole one.
So suck on that, November.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Friday, September 30, 2005
PS: Sometimes I like to change the time when I'm posting something so it looks like I'm posting from the future. For a couple hours, anyway.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Plastic bags? The cabinets under the kitchen sink are full of them. I have a box full of computer cords, phone cords, remotes to appliances I no longer have, and not one, but TWO DSL modems. I do not have DSL. I have all of my old notebooks and binders from school. Presents I never got around to giving. Candles. An M&M dispenser that is M&M-less. Video tapes full of TV shows I never watch. A lot of this stuff is hopefully headed for parts unknown (thank you, eBay), and even more of it I know I should throw away but I've always found it hard to do that. What if I need that Wittenberg binder full of paper? Not only that, but I would actually feel guilty about throwing some of this stuff away. It feels like I'm setting fire to a bunch of money or something. I could give it to Goodwill, I suppose, but I really don't think anyone wants or needs an old basket that has Gamma Phi Beta written all over it.
I still have not hung any pictures or shelves in my bedroom. I don't know if I'll even bother, now, since I don't know if I'll be renewing my lease. There are always dishes in the sink, I leave the bathroom dirty for far too long, and sometimes I eat cereal for dinner. I love living alone, I don't think there has been one moment where I've been lonely. It's quite the opposite, really. I love being by myself. My plans this weekend were that I have no plans. I watched movies all night last night and I haven't talked to another person all day today. I think I was more excited about doing nothing this weekend than I was about going to Chicago last weekend.
Sometimes I feel like I'm playing house. Except whenever we played house when I was little, I always wanted to be the adult. Or the dog (I don't know). Now, I'd rather be the kid. I think I was actually a lot more responsible when I was younger. I used to be timely, not forget to do things, I was reliable. People trusted me with their children. I will freely admit now that I am not very reliable anymore. I don't know when that happened. Maybe when it became legal for me to drink.
I don't mean to suggest that if you lend me your children they'd accidentally catch on fire or something. I'm pretty sure I could keep the kids uncharred for the time they were in my possession, but I can't promise that they'd eat well-balanced meals or take baths. It's two in the afternoon and I still haven't showered. I'm not wearing a bra or pants. I had coffee and peanut butter toast for lunch. The sink is full of dishes. My laundry basket is overflowing with clothes and I'm not sure if they're clean or not. My phone bill is a week late and I haven't unpacked from last weekend.
Still, I think I'm getting pretty good at this playing house thing.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Kaysar? Call me.
*Which was awesome, did you see their faces? Hilarious. Also, do you think CBS realized that no one gave a shit which one of those women won? Is that why they waited until the last ten minutes to announce the winner or do they always do that? Seriously, though, I had completely forgotten that they had neglected to tell us the winner until the Chenbot reminded us because I JUST DIDN'T CARE.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Arrested Development starts tonight.
PS: I don't care if this makes me sound like a total nerd, but I think I was most excited yesterday at Farm Aid when Barack Obama came out to introduce Wilco. And it wasn't because of Wilco. I heart you, Mr. Obama.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Never have I ever messed up coffee.
Never have I ever messed up coffee, twice.
Never have I ever messed up Easy Mac.
Never have I ever messed up Easy Mac, three times.
Never have I ever tried to grill a frozen piece of pork.
Never have I ever had to look up on the internet how to cook pasta.
Never have I ever had to look up on the internet how to brown meat.
Never have I ever overcooked a piece of chicken to the point that it was inedible.
Never have I ever burned piece of garlic bread because I was too busy overcooking a piece of chicken.
Never have I ever set off the smoke detector while using the microwave.
Never have I ever put a frozen 3 Musketeers bar into the microwave, wrapper still on, to soften it.
Never have I ever stuck a metal pot in the microwave, causing a small explosion.
Never have I ever asked what the broiler does.
Never have I ever asked how long it takes to melt butter.
Never have I ever had to call my father to the house where I'm babysitting because I couldn't use the can opener and I didn't want the children to starve. (True story, as my father and uncle so helpfully reminded me this past weekend)
If you can drink to all of those, congratulations . . . you are as helpless in the kitchen as I am. Your prize is a lifetime supply of frozen dinners and Chinese take-out menus.
UPDATE: The position of full-time cook is now open. I cannot pay you, but I will do all of the dishes. Eventually.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
- When playing with a bug, it is more important to toy with it and keep it alive as long as possible, no matter how big of a scene your owner is making, with the screaming and the jumping from piece of furniture to piece of furniture.
- The best time to play (loudly) and meow like a baby being horribly strangled is between the hours of 3 and 6 AM.
- Similarly, the prime time to jump and start kneading on the owner's boobs is when she is either just about to fall asleep or when she is dead asleep.
- If you don't feel like burying your poo in the litter box, the owner will do it for you.
- If you feel the litter box is not clean enough for your dainty little feet, it is perfectly OK to pee on the owners favorite blanket. If there is no blanket within peeing distance, a pile of clothing left on the floor will also work.
- Your tail is out to get you.
- So is the shower.
- And the garbage disposal.
- Also? The vacuum.
- If the owner vacates a chair, even for a split second to get up and stretch, you should immediately jump onto it.
- The owner's bedroom closet is a mysterious and wonderous place. If she should open it, go inside and refuse to come out.
- If you get hungry and your lazy owner is still sleeping, it is perfectly acceptable to put your cold, wet nose onto her face and meow as loud as is humanly (catly?) possible.
- No matter what anyone tells you, YOU are in charge. Don't let your owner forget that.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
I was a sophomore in college. That day, I didn't have class until 11, so I didn't know anything had happened until one of my floormates pounded on my door. Everyone else was at class and she said she just needed to tell someone. "Someone crashed a plane into the twin towers." I was so confused, what strange information to get when you first wake up.
She and I sat on my futon all morning, watching the news. As people came back from class, they joined us. Classes were cancelled. Instead, we all went to the chapel where they were holding a prayer service. I'm not very religious, I don't often pray, but that day I just wanted to be around people. Especially later, when the rumors started flying. I worried about my family in Dayton because someone told me Wright Patt was a target. All planes were grounded, but when Air Force One (or was it Two?) flew over campus and I was outside, I almost crouched behind a tree.
And still, I don't really know how to talk about it. Sometimes it doesn't even feel real. Did that really happen? It seemed so unlikely. Watching it on TV, over and over, it just seemed like a movie. I don't mean to trivialize what happened at all, but it was just so surreal. It still feels that way. I guess it's just one of those "where were you when" moments that I don't think any of us will ever get over. And maybe we shouldn't.
See, I really don't know what to say about it. It just feels wrong NOT to be thinking about it today.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
I brought some stuff in from my outdoor storage unit yesterday because there's some stuff I want to put on eBay, and even more stuff I just want to throw away or take to Goodwill. I'm assuming IT got in when I brought in all those boxes because I don't know where else IT came from.
IT was a giant, jumping . . . cricket. OK! I know! A cricket isn't scary! Aren't they like good luck or something? I don't know what it was about this cricket, though, but I could tell it was EVIL. Maybe it was the way it hopped straight at me, maybe it was the fact that it was hiding under a stuffed animal, or maybe it was because The Cat immediately went after it because she sensed the evil as well.
Whatever it was, it had me actually COWERING on the sofa. I mean I was standing up with my back as close to the wall as it would go, hands covering my mouth like I was Scarlett O'Hara about to pass out (unfortunately, no Rhett would have been around to catch me and I'd probably have passed out on the cricket and have been scarred for life). The Cat, on the other hand, was busy swatting at IT with her paws. Every now and then she'd look at me like "what is wrong with you?" until I shrieked, "PHOEBE STOP LOOKING AT ME AND KILL THAT THING," and then she'd go back to stalking IT.
I watched Phoebe chase this thing around the apartment for about 15 minutes. If she moved rooms I'd carefully follow her and jump on the highest point of furniture in the room. Finally, when it stopped moving and what I think was one of its legs was lying on the floor in the hallway, I assumed IT was dead. But Phoebe wasn't done with it. To my ABSOLUTE HORROR she started picking IT up with her mouth and THROWING IT AROUND. She'd fling it up in the air and then jump after it and since she was standing in my bedroom doorway, I was afraid to leave the room in case she threw IT at me and IT TOUCHED ME.
When pieces of it started flying about, though, I'd had enough. I was starting to get nauseous and I didn't feel like cleaning vomit off of the carpet as well as cricket guts. I got a piece of paper and tried to scoop the remains onto it when IT came back to life and HOPPED STRAIGHT AT ME. I, again, screamed and ran away, then realized I was acting like a complete fucktard, picked up my piece of paper, scooped IT up, ran to the kitchen and threw IT into the sink and washed IT down the garbage disposal. Because what is a garbage disposal for if not for Evil Cricket Exorcisms?
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Friday, September 02, 2005
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Ed Wood - Odd
Keeping the Faith - Underrated
Love Actually - Lovely
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - Perfect
Motorcycle Diaries - Powerful
Before Sunset - Refreshing
Four of the six movies above made me cry at least once. I blame it on hormones. I'll let you deduce which movies they were.
This is the most boring post ever. Sorry. After all the coffee I've had this morning, you'd think I'd be a little more exciting but you'd be wrong.
Friday, August 26, 2005
-It's supposed to rain all weekend.
-People who call William Shakespeare "Bill" or "Willy" Shakespeare.
-The Cat waking me up by pouncing on my stomach and/or boobs.
-Creed (actually, this bugs me every day).
I have a feeling that this is going to be one of those weekends where I hole myself up in my apartment and stay in my pajamas all day watching movies. Sweet!
This has nothing to do with anything, but I had a dream with Napoleon Dynamite in it last night. Yeah, I don't know either.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Anyway. So Mary is leaving. I may as well mention now that the secret plans that I can't divulge also involve Mary. OOOH. And since she will be gone for the next few months and won't be here to tell me when to shut up I predict that I will have spilled the beans to everyone I know before she gets back. It's OK, though, she knows I cannot keep my mouth shut and we're still friends.
I wish I hadn't bragged so much a couple of days ago when I got gas for $2.53 because today I saw it for $2.45! I almost drove into the gas station and filled up my trunk and glove compartment with gas but there was a long line so I didn't. I can't wait until I don't have to drive anymore. (Ooooh, another hint . . . this secret will not last more than two days, I just know it)
Whenever I need reassurance that I haven't turned into a cynical bitch (I'm OK with being a bitch, but not cynical), I watch Breakfast at Tiffany's. The first time I can watch Audrey Hepburn run through the alley looking for Cat WITHOUT crying like a child I will know I am dead inside. I'm not saying that if you DON'T cry during this part you are dead inside. It's just my personal litmus test. But seriously. Why don't you cry? It's so SAD. And then she finds the cat, and it's all wet and sad and she picks it up and puts it in her coat and then hugs Paul and the cat is just sitting there getting squished between them like, "I hate you both, go hail a freaking taxi," and I'm just gonna admit right now that I have no idea where I'm going with this.
If I ever die while working out, the people at the hospital are probably going to wonder why I'm wearing two sports bras, unless one of them also has annoyingly large boobs. Why is the word boob so funny? My dad said they used to have a dog named Boob when he was little. I just kept picturing my Grandma standing on the front porch yelling, "Boooooooooob!" and it made me giggle.
And now the entry has come full circle. Thanks, Grandma.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Kaysar. Oooooh, Kaysar. I would have about 10,000 of his babies.
Luckily, the obsession is not interferring with work or my social life. Yet. I mean, the show is on tonight but I'm still going out*.
So, see? There is hope yet.
*I'm taping it
Friday, August 12, 2005
How am I supposed to concentrate at work when the COWBELL song is on the radio?!
Now all I can picture is Will Ferrell dancing around banging the hell out of a cowbell.
UPDATE: Now they're playing Afternoon Delight. I mean COME ON.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
I'm going home after work to change, and then I'll be home at 5:30
and not even realizing how it could be construed as nonsensical until after I sent it and sat here for a while thinking about it, I've been wondering about the word "home." I've called a lot of different places home in the past few years. I lived in four different places while in college, even though all were at Witt, and that's not counting what I called home-home (my parent's house) while I was at my school-home. It got confusing, especially when talking to someone on the phone.
Friend: Hey, where are you?
Me: I'm at home.
Friend: Oh, how are your parents?
Me: I don't know. Fine?
Friend: I thought you said you were at home.
Me: I did.
And so on. And even now, when I'm on my own and I have a new home-home, I still say I'm going home when I go to visit my parents. I wonder if it will always be that way, even though that house doesn't feel like MY house anymore. Particularly because I no longer have a room. A couple days after I moved out my little sister invaded.
It's like a part of me has split off. Even though I'm not living there any more, part of me still feels like it's home. Just like part of me will always feel like Wittenberg is home. Does that happen every time you move? When I move out of my apartment in April (if all goes as planned, fingers crossed) will part of me stay there? Or will it just be that place I lived before I moved to ______?
Or should I just stop smoking so much crack?
Do you even smoke crack? Or do you sniff it? Shoot it? Anyone?
Monday, August 08, 2005
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Here is what I have accomplished this weekend:
done one load of laundry
gotten a haircut
watched four movies
read one and a half books
caught up on all the sleep I didn't get last week
Yeah. That sounds pretty good.
On a complete sidenote, I'm also realizing how hard it is to save money, especially now that I NEED to be saving as much as possible because my secret plans are pretty dependent on me saving enough money.
So. I think I may get rid of my internet and phone line. I'll keep my cell phone, of course. But after staring at a computer screen all day long, I really don't care to do it once I get home. I'm going back and forth on this. On the one hand, it's really convenient to have the internet in case I need to look something up. On the other hand, the things I tend to look up (for instance, earlier I looked up which state has the most airports and Google was NO HELP AT ALL, so the Internet lost one point) usually have no importance whatsoever, other than to satisfy my curiosity.
This is just like Sophie's Choice.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
I ruin surprises. Not on purpose. I just get so excited that I can't help blurting it out to the intended surprisee. When I was five or six, my parents took me to my friend's birthday party. I remember my mom telling me several times not to tell my friend what her present was. The minute we walked in and I handed my friend the present, I immediately said, "here, we got you a My Little Pony," as my mom covered my mouth with her hand. Too late.
Junior year, a few of us got my friend Erin a very special present. We were all so excited to give it to her, we couldn't wait til her birthday. The NIGHT BEFORE we were going to give her the present, Erin and I were at McMurray's and I told her what we had gotten her. I made her promise not to tell our other friends that I had ruined the surprise, but the next night, after she opened it, I ended up telling them all anyway! I can't even keep my own secrets.
So, I was very proud of myself last weekend when I actually managed to not ruin a surprise. Mary made a surprise visit to Erica's new house, and Erica had no idea until Mary walked in the door.
The point is, I have a new secret so delicious, so very exciting, that all I want to do is tell EVERYONE who crosses my path. Only five people know. One of them is my co-conspirator and two of the others are my parents. If all goes as planned, I think I can finally spill the secret to everyone else I know sometime in January*. I would tell everyone now, but there are some people I don't want to know because I know them, and I know that out of jealousy or just plain meanness they would try to bring me down and shit all over my plans and I really don't want shit all over my shiny, new plans yet.
Anyway. There it is. I don't think I've ever been this excited about anything and I can't wait until I can tell everyone.
I know myself, though. I wouldn't be surprised if sometime next week I spill my secret all over the internets.
*Just for the record, I am not pregnant, I am not secretly married, I am not GETTING married, and I am not having a sex change operation.