just a post about nothing

At this very moment, my friend Mary is ditching me AGAIN for Brazil. Back when Kate was getting ready to leave for the land of MALAWI AFRICA, I mentioned something at a family gathering about my friends leaving for faraway places. My grandma laughed and said, "Jennie, why do all your friends want to get away from you?" like HAHA Grandma, very funny. I could say something really mean here, Grandma, especially since I think you're the only family member who doesn't know about this blog, but I won't because I love you. And also because I know you still know how to do that Vulcan death pinch thing to the back of the arm and frankly that scares me a little. OK, more than a little.

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.