Wednesday, November 30, 2005

once a tool . . .

While at The House of My Parents (tm) this weekend, I convinced my dad to help me get the last of my boxes out of the attic. I probably shouldn't say help, because was it me propped on the ladder, risking life and limb to hand down heavy boxes of I-couldn't-even-remember what? No. It was not. It was my father who, admittedly, probably only wanted the boxes out of the way so he could have more space for his useless crap. Packratism runs in the family.

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
a bible

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

jennie standard time

This morning, when my alarm went off I decided that I did not need that much time to get ready but what I DID need was more sleep. Apparently I did not get enough sleep over the holiday weekend when, in actuality, pretty much all I did this weekend was sleep, read Harry Potter, and watch Arrested Development. You heard me.

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 think my stomach exploded

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. I, for one, am still feeling kind of sick. I don't think the human body is meant to consume that many mashed potatoes in one sitting, but I do love me some mashed potatoes. With butter. And gravy. Mmm. I think I may be sick, excuse me.

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

Thanksgiving Eve

Tonight I'm meeting my parents and sister and we're all going to my aunt's house to help prepare for Thanksgiving. And, in my case, when I say "help" I mean "sit around, make sarcastic comments, and drink wine." Good times. Last time we did this (two years ago?) my aunt drank too much and spent Thanksgiving morning "worshipping the porcelain gods." Her words. And, Aunt _______, don't be mad because I left your name out so no one will know it was you.

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.

click and giggle

Hee. Priceless.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Run, Forrest, Run! (get it, cause my name's Jennie . . . hilarious, I know)

Inspired by both Phil and Tamara, and abnormally full of excess energy, I decided to go for a run tonight. I made two mistakes. First, I waited until it was dark and freezing. Second, I went after dinner instead of before. Stupid, rookie mistake. Dinner tonight was tomato soup, a dish that always makes me feel kind of vomity after eating it anyway and running just made it much, much worse. Why do I eat tomato soup if it makes me feel vomity? I don't know. I like to dip my grilled cheese sandwich in it. Also, it was in the cupboard and it was one of those flip top lids so I didn't even have to use the can opener. This is why I need to start running. I'm too lazy to use a can opener.

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

time to potty train

On this, the second birthday of my blog, I just wanted to say . . . I love you guys. Every single one of you. Even the ones who only come across this blog because they searched for something perverted and disgusting. I love you, Pervy Perverson.

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

November Strikes Back

So, Tuesday when I was complaining about the new uniforms, I should have just shut my damn mouth because things were about to get much, much worse than ill-fitting scrub tops.

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

I've come undone

Today is the first day at work that we're all wearing our new uniforms. And I hate them. I flat-out, utterly despise them.

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

speaking of (Mc)Dreamy

If I could marry a TV show, I would marry Grey's Anatomy. I am in love with that show.

I hope you're all watching it, because if it gets cancelled like Arrested Development I will have to hurt someone.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Dreamy McHotPants

I just got back from seeing Derailed. It was . . . OK, I guess. Kind of slow to start, with a twist that I probably should have seen coming but didn't. The end was pretty good, I thought. "La Rouche . . . I picked this prison." Oooh.

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?

my cousin ain't no holla back girl

Friday night, three boys spent the night with me.

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

"Taste my sad, Michael!"

FOX, apparently, would like me to stop watching TV. Why else would they cancel my beloved Arrested Development? And don't give me that "ratings" nonsense because I WON'T HEAR IT and I won't respond to it. I am in mourning.

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.

blood and kisses

Last night I watched ER for the first time since, I don't know, Carter was still likeable. And I don't know if ER has always been that . . . explicit, or if it has just gotten more disgusting. I don't know. I don't remember anyone other than John Leguizamo twitching a poo-covered (and glove-covered, thank god) finger around and then wiping said poo on a patient's nose but maybe I blocked it out.

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.

and now we turn to our special correspondent . . .

Crazy McPsycho.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Dear Lost,

Look. I know you're like all in love with Flashbacks. And last night they weren't too bad. And next week? Although it essentially is one ginormous flashback, I'm OK with it because I'm actually interested in seeing why Ana turned into such a raging bitch. But after that? Can you and Flashbacks take a break? Thanks.

Please stop killing people off before you get to Sawyer,

Dear Walt,

Stop with the crazy backwards talking. It's creepy. Also, here is a towel.


Dear Sayid,

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.

Call me,

Dear Kate,

You're next.

The Island

Dear TV,

Can I please have my life back? Thanks in advance.


Wednesday, November 09, 2005

blah, blah, I voted

I voted yesterday even though my voting record is kind of disappointing. And there wasn't anything on the ballot that I felt extremely passionate about. Basically, I voted because I knew that if the issues I wanted to pass did not (which they freaking didn't) and I tried to complain about it, I wouldn't feel truly JUSTIFIED to complain since I didn't vote. So. I was a good little citizen and used my precious lunch hour to go vote. My losing streak continued through this election. I think I'm a curse. The people I vote for hardly ever get elected. It's getting to the point that I think I'm going to start voting for the opposite of what I really want to happen because it seems like if I vote yes, it'll turn out no, if I vote no, it'll turn out yes, if I vote smart, it'll turn out Bush.

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

and now I have orange tights that I'll never wear again

Did you guys know that it's really hard to find orange knee socks? I mean, I looked EVERYWHERE. Meijer, Target, Walmart, Payless, Kohl's, the mall (all of it), thrift stores, Goodwill. I couldn't find them anywhere.

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

my name is Jennie and I'm a rageaholic

This week, while my lovely parents are in Hawaii, I've been staying at their house with my sister and dog. And Phoebe, too. Don't worry, I didn't leave her at my apartment with all the cockroaches and breaking and entering.

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

count me bitter

Remember last November 2nd? I know, I've tried to repress the memory of that day, too.

I wish I'd thought to wear all black today.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

I'm bred for my skills in magic, who am I?

Last night, we didn't have many trick-or-treaters and the ones we did have had boring costumes like princesses or pirates. Most of them had just gone to the store and bought a scary mask to wear with regular clothes. Newsflash, kids, that is not a costume! You are boring! The last trick-or-treater we had was dressed in a storebought Spongebob costume, but because he was at least one of the coolest cartoon characters of all time I gave him like five pieces of candy. Also, because we had a shitload of candy leftover.

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.