Today, my friends, I am going to talk about work. Something I don't usually do, not because I'm particularly worried about being dooced, but because nothing that exciting usually happens there. I was at work today for ten hours, uninterrupted, no lunch break with very, VERY little goofing off and I was totally content. Something is wrong with that. I am obviously starting to fill the voids in my life with work which is totally unhealthy. I should be filling those voids with other things, like friends or alcohol or BOTH AT THE SAME TIME.
Anyway. Remember the Dora the Explorer incident? Yeah, I tried to block it out, too. Until today, when the cutest little patient came in bearing a gift for me. Because all of our patients love me. LOVE. ME. Unfortunately we do not have any single, good-looking 23-35 year old, male patients so I get no love from them. ANYWAY. Her gift, and I kid you not, was a picture of Dora the fucking Explorer that she had printed or colored or something in computer class. Luckily, she is really goddamn cute so I wasn't offended.
Yesterday, however, I was offended by our most vile, obnoxious patient's father. This guy . . . ugh, this guy is so annoying. Stephanie, remember Scary Larry? Scary Larry once told me that I reminded him of the Virgin Mary, asked if I liked snake handling, and asked my friend if I wanted to do it with him like they do it on the Discovery Channel. This guy is like Scary Larry all grown up, with fifty extra pounds, and twenty years of experience in making disturbing comments. We all dread when he comes in because he flirts with all of the women in our office in the most creepy way, he's loud in stating his opinions (very few of which I have ever agreed with), and he totally invades my personal space. Sir, stop LEANING ON MY DESK and also stop staring at me because IT'S RUDE. Seriously, sometimes I hide in the bathroom when I know he's there so I don't have to talk to him. Other reasons for hiding in the bathroom? My phone keeps ringing, my boss keeps asking me to do stuff, or I felt the need to go stand in the dark and scream silently into the mirror. Oh, and also? This guy looks like George Costanza, keeps trying to get me to go to his church (oh HELL NO) and even though he is so spectacularly creepy . . . he's boring.
So, yesterday, Daddy BoreBucks is at my desk talking to me about one of his kids, which, fine, parents tend to do that at our office because their forced to wait for a while. He's going on and on and I'm staring at my computer, trying to make it obvious that I'd like him to go away, when I hear "so now my son has a job and it makes it harder to get him in here and also [insert weird pause here] you look nice," all out of the blue and ew. I guess it's a pretty innocuous comment, but it was really the tone and the man and the fact that it CAME OUT OF NOWHERE in front of my coworkers that makes me shudder every time I think about it. I'm seriously considering buying a fake wedding ring to wear to work, but then I'd have to make up a fake husband and a fake wedding and that could lead to a serious break with reality.
And finally, it is phone conversations like this:
Guy on Phone Pretending to Have an Indian Accent, but really he sounded African: I am having a problem with my kneecap.
Me: Um. We're an orthodontist's office.
GOPPTHAIABRHSA: Yes, someone gave me your card.
Me: Ok.
GOPPTHAIABRHSA: I hurt my kneecap.
Me: You might want to try looking for a physician in the phone book.
GOPPTHAIABRHSA: But I cannot read English, only speak it.
by the way, this is the point where I realized I was being prank called
Me: Would you like me to look in the phonebook for you?
GOPPTHAIABRHSA: You don't fix kneecaps?
Me: No.
GOPPTHAIABRHSA: What do you fix?
Me: Teeth.
GOPPTHAIABRHSA: Oh! The bone in the mouth is the same as the bone in the knee, yes?
Me: No.
and this:
DR: Good Afternoon, Jennie!
Me: Hello.
DR: Can you look up a number for me?
Me: Sure.
DR: I have the number but I don't know who it belongs to
Me: . . .
DR: Is there a way to find out who it belongs to?
Me: I guess I could Google it.
DR: Ok! Here is the number 467-9876 (said faster than the roadrunner)
Me: Is that a 937?
DR: What?
Me: Area code.
DR: Um, yes, 537
Me: 937?
DR: Oh, yes, 937.
Me: Yeah, it's not coming up with anything.
DR: What does that mean?
Me: Um . . .
DR: You don't know who it belongs to?
Me: No.
DR: Oh. I've tried calling it 25 times or so . . . 20, 30 times and it keeps ringing busy.
Me: . . .
DR: What if I try star 62? That will just connect me to the number, right?
Me: What?
DR: STAR. Sixty. Two.
Me: You mean star 69?
DR: Yes, yes, yes!
Me: Yeah, that costs money.
DR: I know, but will it tell me who the number belongs to?
Me: NO.
DR: Oh, ok. And you don't know?
Me: Not off the top of my head.
DR: Ok, I'll be in the office in a moment.
Me: Sigh.
that cause me to go stand in the bathroom and scream silently into the mirror.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
24 going on 13
Sometimes, at the end of the month (or, you know, if I'm bored at work, shh don't tell), I go back to look at old blog entries. Not just because I'm a self-centered narcissist, but because if there's anything I enjoy doing, it's obsessing about the past. I haven't really been able to do that this month, though, mostly because when I try, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. That same feeling I get when I go back and read my journal from high school. I can read a couple of pages and then I have to put it away, because my face can only handle so much cringing before it starts to ache. I don't have much written in this blog that I ever considered cringe-worthy, or that I ever thought about deleting so it would disappear into the Internet ether forever, but this month my mouse has hovered over "delete this post" more than once. Unfortunately, my brain doesn't have the same function.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Make me a bicycle, clown!
The three day weekend is almost over, which is sad and tragic but at least I can say I didn't waste it. No regrets, that's my new motto. That and "I can't help but wonder why we did that," but MOSTLY No Regrets. So yeah. I didn't waste the weekend so I should get a medal or a trophy or something right? I certainly didn't waste any of it SLEEPING because seriously? I can sleep later. Although, I'm not sure when because I pretty much come up with excuses not to go to bed every night of the week so I don't know when this elusive sleep will ever come. When I'm dead, I guess. Or if I ever lapse into some kind of coma, possibly triggered by boredom while I'm at work.
I think the word you're looking for is . . . ANYWAY. Friday night was, as expected, a lot of fun because duh . . . my friends are fun. It was just like a slumber party from years and years ago, except the conversation topics ranged from boy talk to the Holocaust (I have no idea how that came up), we drank margaritas (no regrets), and we listened to the Motown collection CD that I got from Target (what, shut up) instead of New Kids on the Block. Again, I say shut up. I'm sorry to say that there were no pillow fights in our underwear, but we did put on the Liger/Vote for Pedro wristbands and take pictures and no I will not be sharing these. We also called Africa at 2:30 AM. When was the last time you did that at a slumber party?
On Saturday, we went to our new favorite restaurant to see our Waiter-Boyfriend but, tragically, he was not our waiter. Not cool. I'm going to have to start suggesting to sit in his section. Saturday night . . . was weird. I had apparently taken an honesty pill earlier in the day and felt the need to unload a bunch of stuff (no regrets) and later that night one of my friends got peed on. By a cat. Not a person. Because, ew.
Again, anyway. Sunday took us to Taste of Cincinnati and let me tell you . . . after walking around for hours in the hot, hot heat with all the BO in Ohio wafting around us we smelled GOOD. Luckily, everyone else smelled just as disgusting. There was a guy making balloon animals and Mary and I were so good because all we wanted to do was go up to him and scream, "make me a bicycle, clown!" because we have seen Wedding Crashers one too many times, but we restrained ourselves. Ok, so I kind of regret not doing that. Next time I see a guy making balloon animals, I'm totally doing it.
I just got back from my parents house, where we ate dinner while watching The Perfect Man. Yes, the one with Hilary Duff. Yes, I kind of sort of liked it. Yes, I'm kind of embarrassed about that.
Right now I'm trying to deny that I have to get up and go to work tomorrow because I DON'T WANNA, MOM, DON'T MAKE ME. Sigh.
I think the word you're looking for is . . . ANYWAY. Friday night was, as expected, a lot of fun because duh . . . my friends are fun. It was just like a slumber party from years and years ago, except the conversation topics ranged from boy talk to the Holocaust (I have no idea how that came up), we drank margaritas (no regrets), and we listened to the Motown collection CD that I got from Target (what, shut up) instead of New Kids on the Block. Again, I say shut up. I'm sorry to say that there were no pillow fights in our underwear, but we did put on the Liger/Vote for Pedro wristbands and take pictures and no I will not be sharing these. We also called Africa at 2:30 AM. When was the last time you did that at a slumber party?
On Saturday, we went to our new favorite restaurant to see our Waiter-Boyfriend but, tragically, he was not our waiter. Not cool. I'm going to have to start suggesting to sit in his section. Saturday night . . . was weird. I had apparently taken an honesty pill earlier in the day and felt the need to unload a bunch of stuff (no regrets) and later that night one of my friends got peed on. By a cat. Not a person. Because, ew.
Again, anyway. Sunday took us to Taste of Cincinnati and let me tell you . . . after walking around for hours in the hot, hot heat with all the BO in Ohio wafting around us we smelled GOOD. Luckily, everyone else smelled just as disgusting. There was a guy making balloon animals and Mary and I were so good because all we wanted to do was go up to him and scream, "make me a bicycle, clown!" because we have seen Wedding Crashers one too many times, but we restrained ourselves. Ok, so I kind of regret not doing that. Next time I see a guy making balloon animals, I'm totally doing it.
I just got back from my parents house, where we ate dinner while watching The Perfect Man. Yes, the one with Hilary Duff. Yes, I kind of sort of liked it. Yes, I'm kind of embarrassed about that.
Right now I'm trying to deny that I have to get up and go to work tomorrow because I DON'T WANNA, MOM, DON'T MAKE ME. Sigh.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Today is Thursday. But Dwight thinks that it’s Friday. And . . . that's what I’ll be working on this afternoon.
Man, today is dragging. I think it's because I'm hanging on the precipice of a THREE DAY WEEKEND, which, when put together, are three of of the most magical words in existence.
Seriously. Today, go slower, be more annoying, please. I like it like that.
Sigh.
I think the UPS man might have a crush on me. Every time he comes in and talks to me, his face gets all red, and he stumbles over his words, and half the time he drops his package (hee) as he's handing it to me. I hope he never works up the courage to ask me on a date, but if he does I already have a story. Um, I'm dating someone named Jim Halpert. It's a long distance thing, because he works at a small paper company in Pennsylvania. Sometimes I'm afraid he's cheating on me with some receptionist in his office, but I don't care because, um, he's totally hot.
No, I have not completely lost touch with reality. I know Jim Halpert isn't real. But the UPS guy MIGHT NOT, ok?
So. This weekend should be fun. IT BETTER BE. Although, it can't be more fun than last weekend or I might seriously die. From the fun. It happens.
Tonight we're having girl's night. Yeah, I said it. It'll be just like those slumber parties I had when I was 13, what with the girly movies (Um, 13 Going on 30, Princess Bride, anyone?), the pizza, the boy talk, only this time there will be margaritas. Delicious. Tomorrow will be grown up fun. Yes, we ARE going to Elsa's again but this time I hope not to fall into the men's room. Or if I do, I hope to fall into the arms of Hot Waiter, not a 50-year-old man with a goatee who is shorter than me, which is who I almost knocked over last time.
Last night, in the midst of a severe thunderstorm warning and a tornado watch, my roommate and I went to Target. Because that's how we roll. Our logic was that if there was a tornado, Target was probably safer than our apartment and if we died, at least it would be in a place we loved. Within the first 30 seconds, we had already decided it was the best trip to Target EVER because what did we find in the $1 aisle? Oh. We found Napoleon Dynamite, well . . . crap. For a dollar. Crap for a dollar is quite a deal. This is why we now have Nap D magnets on our fridge, Nap D mousepads by our computers, and LIGER wristbands. Also a pen that says Vote for Pedro. Don't be jealous of how cool we are because WE WORK HARD AT IT.
Man, can I just apologize now for this entry? I don't feel very bloggy. It happens. I hope this weekend reboots me because I haven't felt much like myself lately.
Seriously. Today, go slower, be more annoying, please. I like it like that.
Sigh.
I think the UPS man might have a crush on me. Every time he comes in and talks to me, his face gets all red, and he stumbles over his words, and half the time he drops his package (hee) as he's handing it to me. I hope he never works up the courage to ask me on a date, but if he does I already have a story. Um, I'm dating someone named Jim Halpert. It's a long distance thing, because he works at a small paper company in Pennsylvania. Sometimes I'm afraid he's cheating on me with some receptionist in his office, but I don't care because, um, he's totally hot.
No, I have not completely lost touch with reality. I know Jim Halpert isn't real. But the UPS guy MIGHT NOT, ok?
So. This weekend should be fun. IT BETTER BE. Although, it can't be more fun than last weekend or I might seriously die. From the fun. It happens.
Tonight we're having girl's night. Yeah, I said it. It'll be just like those slumber parties I had when I was 13, what with the girly movies (Um, 13 Going on 30, Princess Bride, anyone?), the pizza, the boy talk, only this time there will be margaritas. Delicious. Tomorrow will be grown up fun. Yes, we ARE going to Elsa's again but this time I hope not to fall into the men's room. Or if I do, I hope to fall into the arms of Hot Waiter, not a 50-year-old man with a goatee who is shorter than me, which is who I almost knocked over last time.
Last night, in the midst of a severe thunderstorm warning and a tornado watch, my roommate and I went to Target. Because that's how we roll. Our logic was that if there was a tornado, Target was probably safer than our apartment and if we died, at least it would be in a place we loved. Within the first 30 seconds, we had already decided it was the best trip to Target EVER because what did we find in the $1 aisle? Oh. We found Napoleon Dynamite, well . . . crap. For a dollar. Crap for a dollar is quite a deal. This is why we now have Nap D magnets on our fridge, Nap D mousepads by our computers, and LIGER wristbands. Also a pen that says Vote for Pedro. Don't be jealous of how cool we are because WE WORK HARD AT IT.
Man, can I just apologize now for this entry? I don't feel very bloggy. It happens. I hope this weekend reboots me because I haven't felt much like myself lately.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
til I'm red in the face
You know what? It's really hard to put blush on when you're thinking about something you've done, and you're getting embarrassed all over again, and your face is turning beet red . . . oh wait, does this not happen to everyone?
I embarrass myself quite frequently and when this happens, my face turns red. Not as bad as that one girl who was on Grey's Anatomy that one time who blushed like crazy every time Dr. McDreamy talked to her (who wouldn't though?) but CLOSE. And when people start pointing out that my face is turning red? OH, it gets worse.
Monday night we went to our new favorite restaurant (mainly because of our waiter-crush on Hot Waiter). As we were waiting for a table, I leaned back against what I thought was a wall. A few seconds later, the wall gave way and I fell backwards (although not onto my ass, which would have been worse) into the men's room, almost knocking over the guy coming out. Who was probably confused as hell that some girl was suddenly falling into his arms. Whoops. Sometimes I think I'm living in a cartoon.
Yeah. The face was pretty red after that one, but at least it didn't happen in front of Hot Waiter. The other thing that's embarrassing me at the moment, well, that's the reason my face hasn't been too pale lately. But, thankfully, no one has been cruel enough to bring it up.
I embarrass myself quite frequently and when this happens, my face turns red. Not as bad as that one girl who was on Grey's Anatomy that one time who blushed like crazy every time Dr. McDreamy talked to her (who wouldn't though?) but CLOSE. And when people start pointing out that my face is turning red? OH, it gets worse.
Monday night we went to our new favorite restaurant (mainly because of our waiter-crush on Hot Waiter). As we were waiting for a table, I leaned back against what I thought was a wall. A few seconds later, the wall gave way and I fell backwards (although not onto my ass, which would have been worse) into the men's room, almost knocking over the guy coming out. Who was probably confused as hell that some girl was suddenly falling into his arms. Whoops. Sometimes I think I'm living in a cartoon.
Yeah. The face was pretty red after that one, but at least it didn't happen in front of Hot Waiter. The other thing that's embarrassing me at the moment, well, that's the reason my face hasn't been too pale lately. But, thankfully, no one has been cruel enough to bring it up.
Monday, May 22, 2006
team jim halpert
Do you think if I wrote John Krasinski a really nice letter, he'd come to Ohio and take me out to dinner or a movie or something? Hell, I'd even pay my own way.
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?
what happens in Chicago stays in Chicago
Only not really, because I have a big, giant mouth. Scenes from this weekend:
Friday night, post-bar, pre-bed
Me: Heidi passed out.
Mary: I know.
Me: I'm not tired.
Mary: Me either.
Me: What time is it?
Mary: Only 4.
Me: What should we do?
Mary: Want to go to the beach?
Me: Ok!
Friday night, Lake Michigan
Mary: What's that noise?
Me: It sounds like a bullfrog.
Mary: Weird.
Me: Yeah, I know.
Mary: Um. Wait a second.
Me: It's OK! Bullfrogs can't hurt you!
Mary: I don't think that's a bullfrog.
Me: Oh my god.
Mary: Um. Yeah.
Me: Were those people having sex?
Mary: They totally were.
Me: Wow.
Mary: I know.
Saturday afternoon, Michigan Avenue
Me: Mary.
Mary: Yes?
Me: I'm kind of disappointed that we haven't seen Vince Vaughn yet.
Mary: Sorry, guys.
Heidi: I'm actually more excited to see Jen.
Me: You call her Jen?
Heidi: Yeah, we're pretty close.
Saturday afternoon, in line at Victoria's Secret
Me: What is this stuff?
Mary: I think it's massage oil.
Me (loudly): Oh! Too sexy! Too sexy!
Lady in front of us: Heehee.
Mary: You made a stranger giggle.
Me: Yeah, sometimes I forget that other people can hear me when I talk.
Saturday evening, dinner at Redmond's
Mary: So what do you guys want to do tonight?
Heidi: Ooh! Let's go on a bar crawl!
Me: Yes. Excellent idea.
Mary: How many bars should we go to?
Heidi: Seven.
Me: Wow, that is weirdly specific. I like it.
Mary: Me too.
Saturday night, Bar Three
Girl In Line For Bathroom Behind Me: Can I ask you a question?
Me: Sure.
GILFBBM: If you'd been sleeping with a guy for a few months . . .
Me: Okaaaaay
GILFBBM: And kind of dating?
Me: Yes?
GILFBBM: Would you be upset if he didn't know your last name?
Me: Pretty much.
GILFBBM: THANK YOU!
Me: No problem.
Saturday night, I have no idea
Me: What number are we on?
Mary: Five?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Me: How many Red Bull and Vodkas have you had, Heidi?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Mary: How many dwarfs are there?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Me: How many times are you gonna throw up later?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Sunday morning, Mary's apartment
Mary: Good morning.
Me: Morning.
Heidi: Where did you sleep last night?
Me: I woke up on the sofa in the living room.
Mary: The last I saw, you were sleeping on my floor.
Heidi: Did you sleep in your jeans?
Me: Yes.
Mary: Did you sleep in your jacket, too?
Me: I guess so since I'm still wearing it.
Sunday, pre-shower
Me: I'm going to wear some of my new underwear.
Mary: Which ones?
Me: These blue ones.
Heidi: Ooh, I like the circles.
Me: Yeah, it reminds me of the Olympics.
Heidi: Special Olympics, maybe.
Me: Thank you.
Mary: What's your event?
Me: Duh. Hurdles.
Sunday, every time we attempted to walk
All of us: Ow. My legs. They hurt. Ow.
Friday night, post-bar, pre-bed
Me: Heidi passed out.
Mary: I know.
Me: I'm not tired.
Mary: Me either.
Me: What time is it?
Mary: Only 4.
Me: What should we do?
Mary: Want to go to the beach?
Me: Ok!
Friday night, Lake Michigan
Mary: What's that noise?
Me: It sounds like a bullfrog.
Mary: Weird.
Me: Yeah, I know.
Mary: Um. Wait a second.
Me: It's OK! Bullfrogs can't hurt you!
Mary: I don't think that's a bullfrog.
Me: Oh my god.
Mary: Um. Yeah.
Me: Were those people having sex?
Mary: They totally were.
Me: Wow.
Mary: I know.
Saturday afternoon, Michigan Avenue
Me: Mary.
Mary: Yes?
Me: I'm kind of disappointed that we haven't seen Vince Vaughn yet.
Mary: Sorry, guys.
Heidi: I'm actually more excited to see Jen.
Me: You call her Jen?
Heidi: Yeah, we're pretty close.
Saturday afternoon, in line at Victoria's Secret
Me: What is this stuff?
Mary: I think it's massage oil.
Me (loudly): Oh! Too sexy! Too sexy!
Lady in front of us: Heehee.
Mary: You made a stranger giggle.
Me: Yeah, sometimes I forget that other people can hear me when I talk.
Saturday evening, dinner at Redmond's
Mary: So what do you guys want to do tonight?
Heidi: Ooh! Let's go on a bar crawl!
Me: Yes. Excellent idea.
Mary: How many bars should we go to?
Heidi: Seven.
Me: Wow, that is weirdly specific. I like it.
Mary: Me too.
Saturday night, Bar Three
Girl In Line For Bathroom Behind Me: Can I ask you a question?
Me: Sure.
GILFBBM: If you'd been sleeping with a guy for a few months . . .
Me: Okaaaaay
GILFBBM: And kind of dating?
Me: Yes?
GILFBBM: Would you be upset if he didn't know your last name?
Me: Pretty much.
GILFBBM: THANK YOU!
Me: No problem.
Saturday night, I have no idea
Me: What number are we on?
Mary: Five?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Me: How many Red Bull and Vodkas have you had, Heidi?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Mary: How many dwarfs are there?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Me: How many times are you gonna throw up later?
Heidi: Seven! Seven! Seven!
Sunday morning, Mary's apartment
Mary: Good morning.
Me: Morning.
Heidi: Where did you sleep last night?
Me: I woke up on the sofa in the living room.
Mary: The last I saw, you were sleeping on my floor.
Heidi: Did you sleep in your jeans?
Me: Yes.
Mary: Did you sleep in your jacket, too?
Me: I guess so since I'm still wearing it.
Sunday, pre-shower
Me: I'm going to wear some of my new underwear.
Mary: Which ones?
Me: These blue ones.
Heidi: Ooh, I like the circles.
Me: Yeah, it reminds me of the Olympics.
Heidi: Special Olympics, maybe.
Me: Thank you.
Mary: What's your event?
Me: Duh. Hurdles.
Sunday, every time we attempted to walk
All of us: Ow. My legs. They hurt. Ow.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
To Jennie, from The Legs:
That's it, we're leaving. You made us walk all the way around Chicago when we TOLD you we just wanted to sit and watch some TV. We didn't want to go shopping. We didn't want to go to that restaurant. We CERTAINLY did not want to walk to Lake Michigan at 4 in the morning to watch the sunrise. You are crazy.
So we're done. We quit. We left a brochure for wheelchairs by your bed. Good luck with that.
Peace out,
The Legs
PS: The Liver is coming with us. The Unofficial Chicago 2006 Seven Bar Bar Crawl finally broke him.
So we're done. We quit. We left a brochure for wheelchairs by your bed. Good luck with that.
Peace out,
The Legs
PS: The Liver is coming with us. The Unofficial Chicago 2006 Seven Bar Bar Crawl finally broke him.
Friday, May 19, 2006
having a tiny, baby, little freakout
I think I am about to break out of the cycle.
I'm on my way to Chicago, to spend the weekend with two of my very best friends in the whole entire world. Much talk will be had, much tequila will be shot, many stories will be made, and if you hear sirens coming from Illinois, don't worry, it's just us.
Have a good weekend, everyone. Be safe. Don't drink too much (said the pot to the kettle).
I'm on my way to Chicago, to spend the weekend with two of my very best friends in the whole entire world. Much talk will be had, much tequila will be shot, many stories will be made, and if you hear sirens coming from Illinois, don't worry, it's just us.
Have a good weekend, everyone. Be safe. Don't drink too much (said the pot to the kettle).
Thursday, May 18, 2006
modus operandi
All joking aside, sometimes I do wonder why I don't have a boyfriend, why I don't really date, why I am never one of those girls that guys seem to flock to. Then I realize I know exactly why that is. Because I approach the opposite sex in the same ways, time after time, the same damn scenarios OVER AND OVER.
Scenario One:
I like Boy A. I assume Boy A does not like me. I never say anything to Boy A. Boy A ends up dating one of my friends. I pine away and then eventually forget about it.
Scenario Two:
I like Boy B. I assume Boy B does not like me. Boy B and I become friends. I pretend not to like Boy B and almost fool myself. I never say anything to Boy B (are we sensing a pattern here?) even though I want to. I spend WAY too much time going over things in my head, trying to decide whether Boy B likes me and eventually decide that no, he does not, because Boy B has never said anything either. I pine away but find it hard to forget about it.
Scenario Three:
I like Boy C. I assume Boy C does not like me. Time goes by. I find out Boy C does like me. I freak out and don't know what to do so I avoid Boy C. He pines and I pine and then we both forget about each other.
I don't know how to break out of this cycle. Other than to actively pursue someone I'm not interested in until maybe I become interested in them. Or to accept any dates I'm offered but HELLO NO ONE IS OFFERING. Or, you know, stalk John Krasinski but I don't really want to go to prison. Unless he needs a stalker to raise publicity or something, in which case, John . . . call me.
ANYWAY. I'm not really sure what I'm babbling about at this point. Maybe I'm doomed to wander the earth, lost and alone (can we say DRAMA QUEEN? ok, good), or to move to the woods to write a sad, lonely novel, contract tuberculosis, and die a slow, liquidy death (um, I do live way Walden Pond, so this is a likely scenario).
Or maybe I should just get over myself and STOP FREAKING OUT ABOUT EVERYTHING.
Unlikely.
Scenario One:
I like Boy A. I assume Boy A does not like me. I never say anything to Boy A. Boy A ends up dating one of my friends. I pine away and then eventually forget about it.
Scenario Two:
I like Boy B. I assume Boy B does not like me. Boy B and I become friends. I pretend not to like Boy B and almost fool myself. I never say anything to Boy B (are we sensing a pattern here?) even though I want to. I spend WAY too much time going over things in my head, trying to decide whether Boy B likes me and eventually decide that no, he does not, because Boy B has never said anything either. I pine away but find it hard to forget about it.
Scenario Three:
I like Boy C. I assume Boy C does not like me. Time goes by. I find out Boy C does like me. I freak out and don't know what to do so I avoid Boy C. He pines and I pine and then we both forget about each other.
I don't know how to break out of this cycle. Other than to actively pursue someone I'm not interested in until maybe I become interested in them. Or to accept any dates I'm offered but HELLO NO ONE IS OFFERING. Or, you know, stalk John Krasinski but I don't really want to go to prison. Unless he needs a stalker to raise publicity or something, in which case, John . . . call me.
ANYWAY. I'm not really sure what I'm babbling about at this point. Maybe I'm doomed to wander the earth, lost and alone (can we say DRAMA QUEEN? ok, good), or to move to the woods to write a sad, lonely novel, contract tuberculosis, and die a slow, liquidy death (um, I do live way Walden Pond, so this is a likely scenario).
Or maybe I should just get over myself and STOP FREAKING OUT ABOUT EVERYTHING.
Unlikely.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Where have you been? And don’t say the bathroom cause I kicked in all the stalls.
Did you ever read a situation in an advice column and realize that it is so similar to your own that you have to think back and wonder if maybe you got really drunk, wrote it, sent it, and forgot about it?
Yeah, me neither.
So yesterday I was having a really terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. A very long, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Like the longest day ever in the history of very long, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. Ok, I'll stop. My mood got worse and worse and when I almost choked on the sandwich I had to try and eat in three bites because THAT'S ALL I HAD TIME FOR AND GODDAMN IT I WAS HUNGRY SO I WAS GONNA EAT MY TURKEY SANDWICH (breathe) I was ready to bitchslap that patient's mother who gave me attitude and ROLLED HER FUCKING EYES AT ME (ok seriously breathe) and when she left I had to go to the bathroom to have a little timeout before I actually killed someone WITH BOTH MY BARE HANDS.
I got out of the office late, because a parent forgot TO PICK UP THEIR CHILD so I got to wait with the little boy while he waited for his stupid, asshole mother to remember him. On the way home, I was ready to ram my car into anyone who got in my way, including pedestrians but especially the SUV I got behind with the bumper sticker of picture of Susan B. Anthony with the saying "Real Feminists Don't Kill Babies," like oh my god, that was the most surreal anti-choice bumper sticker I've ever seen. And when it started to rain and people kept cutting me off trying to beat me onto the highway I really really just wanted to stop the car right there and get out all slow-motiony and sad like that REM video but I didn't because at that moment I looked up and saw I was driving toward a rainbow.
Yeah, me neither.
So yesterday I was having a really terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. A very long, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Like the longest day ever in the history of very long, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. Ok, I'll stop. My mood got worse and worse and when I almost choked on the sandwich I had to try and eat in three bites because THAT'S ALL I HAD TIME FOR AND GODDAMN IT I WAS HUNGRY SO I WAS GONNA EAT MY TURKEY SANDWICH (breathe) I was ready to bitchslap that patient's mother who gave me attitude and ROLLED HER FUCKING EYES AT ME (ok seriously breathe) and when she left I had to go to the bathroom to have a little timeout before I actually killed someone WITH BOTH MY BARE HANDS.
I got out of the office late, because a parent forgot TO PICK UP THEIR CHILD so I got to wait with the little boy while he waited for his stupid, asshole mother to remember him. On the way home, I was ready to ram my car into anyone who got in my way, including pedestrians but especially the SUV I got behind with the bumper sticker of picture of Susan B. Anthony with the saying "Real Feminists Don't Kill Babies," like oh my god, that was the most surreal anti-choice bumper sticker I've ever seen. And when it started to rain and people kept cutting me off trying to beat me onto the highway I really really just wanted to stop the car right there and get out all slow-motiony and sad like that REM video but I didn't because at that moment I looked up and saw I was driving toward a rainbow.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
form an orderly line, please
I'm tired of paying for my own meals, concert tickets, and bar tab, and I think my family is starting to worry that there is something wrong with me, so I am now taking applications for The Perfect Boyfriend. Please provide:
your age
job description
favorite movie
hair color/eye color
pet's name
favorite episode of The Office (that's right, I went there)
ideal date
and most importantly, how would you deal with me when I am drunk/PMSing/going batshit crazy (sometimes all at the same time)?
Applications can either be e-mailed or left in the comments for my perusal. If you are our hot waiter from Elsa's last night or especially THIS MAN, you don't need to apply, just show up at my apartment.
That is all.
your age
job description
favorite movie
hair color/eye color
pet's name
favorite episode of The Office (that's right, I went there)
ideal date
and most importantly, how would you deal with me when I am drunk/PMSing/going batshit crazy (sometimes all at the same time)?
Applications can either be e-mailed or left in the comments for my perusal. If you are our hot waiter from Elsa's last night or especially THIS MAN, you don't need to apply, just show up at my apartment.
That is all.
Monday, May 15, 2006
good talk
So, I still have Meredith Grey voice from this weekend. It's making talking on the phone fun and interesting.
Scene from yesterday:
Me: Happy Mother's Day!
Mom: What's wrong with you?
Me: I lost my voice.
Mom: I hope you're not getting sick.
Me: I don't think so, Mary was visiting this weekend.
Mom: Oh, I see.
End scene.
Because Mary visiting equals lots of bar time and little sleep and even my mom knows it. Although, I think losing my voice had more to do with shouting along with Kelly Clarkson (I know you're wondering if I could BE more of a nerd (thanks, Chandler and check out these parenthesis inside parenthesis) and the answer is YES) in the car.
Speaking of Meredith Grey (excellent transition, yes?) . . . I might freak out. If they kill Burke I will not be happy. I'd rather they kill Denny because Izzy has apparently gone batshit crazy. I love Dr. Burke more than any other fictional character on TV (um, except Jim Halpert because HELLO he's Three-hole-punch Jim).
I have no idea where I'm going with this entry. Nothing new there, I suppose. Sigh. I am really regretting my choice of underwear today. It has spent the majority of the morning lodged firmly up my butt and I'm finding it really difficult to concentrate on anything because . . . hello, permanent wedgie. It's really hard to pick those without people noticing. And I think my co-workers would get weirded out if I went to the bathroom every five minutes to pick my butt.
Wow. I think this blog has reached a new low.
Scene from yesterday:
Me: Happy Mother's Day!
Mom: What's wrong with you?
Me: I lost my voice.
Mom: I hope you're not getting sick.
Me: I don't think so, Mary was visiting this weekend.
Mom: Oh, I see.
End scene.
Because Mary visiting equals lots of bar time and little sleep and even my mom knows it. Although, I think losing my voice had more to do with shouting along with Kelly Clarkson (I know you're wondering if I could BE more of a nerd (thanks, Chandler and check out these parenthesis inside parenthesis) and the answer is YES) in the car.
Speaking of Meredith Grey (excellent transition, yes?) . . . I might freak out. If they kill Burke I will not be happy. I'd rather they kill Denny because Izzy has apparently gone batshit crazy. I love Dr. Burke more than any other fictional character on TV (um, except Jim Halpert because HELLO he's Three-hole-punch Jim).
I have no idea where I'm going with this entry. Nothing new there, I suppose. Sigh. I am really regretting my choice of underwear today. It has spent the majority of the morning lodged firmly up my butt and I'm finding it really difficult to concentrate on anything because . . . hello, permanent wedgie. It's really hard to pick those without people noticing. And I think my co-workers would get weirded out if I went to the bathroom every five minutes to pick my butt.
Wow. I think this blog has reached a new low.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
oh, OK, I'm THAT girl
Sometimes I think I should just tattoo "I'm a huge tool" on my forehead to save time. That way people will know to avoid me before I make an ass out of myself.
Why, yes, I did have a good weekend. Full of friends and bar and um, best of all? Three hole punch Steve! That's right. I went there. It was not a good weekend for cell phones, though. My roommate kind of broke hers in half. She could still use it if she held the pieces together but of course, the screen no longer worked so she had no idea who was calling. It hadn't been completely broken before that. For a while, the top half was hanging on by one side. It kind of looked like a loose tooth; you know, the one that you let get looser and looser because you didn't want to pull it and eventually it would just be hanging there by like one little thread of . . . whatever teeth hang by, until finally it would either fall out or your dad would threaten to tie a piece of string around it and tie the other end to the back of the car because he was tired of watching you wiggle it back and forth with your tongue. True story. Not really. Good talk.
I also found out that my cell phone will soon need replaced. AWESOME. It doesn't so much hold a charge anymore, and apparently it's because the battery is draining draining draining away. I can either try and hold off til August, when I'm eligible to upgrade it, or I can pay $40 for a new battery. I'll be holding off, of course, and I think I'll be OK as long as my roommate stays away from it. This weekend, it (my phone, not my roommate) almost died several times, but not before my friends could take it out of my purse without my knowledge and use it for nefarious deeds.
PS: Happy Mother's Day, moms.
Why, yes, I did have a good weekend. Full of friends and bar and um, best of all? Three hole punch Steve! That's right. I went there. It was not a good weekend for cell phones, though. My roommate kind of broke hers in half. She could still use it if she held the pieces together but of course, the screen no longer worked so she had no idea who was calling. It hadn't been completely broken before that. For a while, the top half was hanging on by one side. It kind of looked like a loose tooth; you know, the one that you let get looser and looser because you didn't want to pull it and eventually it would just be hanging there by like one little thread of . . . whatever teeth hang by, until finally it would either fall out or your dad would threaten to tie a piece of string around it and tie the other end to the back of the car because he was tired of watching you wiggle it back and forth with your tongue. True story. Not really. Good talk.
I also found out that my cell phone will soon need replaced. AWESOME. It doesn't so much hold a charge anymore, and apparently it's because the battery is draining draining draining away. I can either try and hold off til August, when I'm eligible to upgrade it, or I can pay $40 for a new battery. I'll be holding off, of course, and I think I'll be OK as long as my roommate stays away from it. This weekend, it (my phone, not my roommate) almost died several times, but not before my friends could take it out of my purse without my knowledge and use it for nefarious deeds.
PS: Happy Mother's Day, moms.
Friday, May 12, 2006
I don't want to do that. I want to be more than that.
Forget McDreamy, I want Jim Halpert.
Seriously? Seriously.
Ok, so I know I am way too emotionally invested in this show, but how awesome was The Office last night? It made me feel happy on the insides. I've decided that since I have no romantic prospects of my own (other than a crush on a boy who is either functionally retarded or the most completely oblivious, stupid boy in the history of Oblivious Boyland, seriously I give up already) I will live vicariously through Jim and Pam. Good plan.
Yesterday, my mood was in direct opposition to the weather. It was rainy and cold and windy but I was completely and inexplicably happy. I was a couple of endorphins away from skipping and whistling down the street and actually SINGING IN THE RAIN even though I didn't have an umbrella or one of those kicky, plastic-raincoat-hat thingies. However, the day was not content with me being content and spent its time dragging my mood through the mud and the poop and the rain until all I wanted to do was put on my pajamas, curl up in a ball on the sofa, and watch sad, sappy movies. Today, my mood fits very well with the weather, which yes, is very, very shitty.
Stupid weather. I hate being in a bad mood so I have just decided to snap out of it. Easy, right? Click, boom, happy now. Why shouldn't I be? I get to see a bunch of my friends this weekend and next weekend . . . oh, next weekend, I am going to Chicago and it will be LEGENDARY, just like last time only hopefully this time we will have better CARma. Mary, you know what I'm talking about. Ha, I don't think she even reads this. Oh man, I'm sorry I'm on crack. I shouldn't even post this (but I will) because it is the laziest, most boring entry ever in the history of this blog. And that's saying something.
Seriously? Seriously.
Ok, so I know I am way too emotionally invested in this show, but how awesome was The Office last night? It made me feel happy on the insides. I've decided that since I have no romantic prospects of my own (other than a crush on a boy who is either functionally retarded or the most completely oblivious, stupid boy in the history of Oblivious Boyland, seriously I give up already) I will live vicariously through Jim and Pam. Good plan.
Yesterday, my mood was in direct opposition to the weather. It was rainy and cold and windy but I was completely and inexplicably happy. I was a couple of endorphins away from skipping and whistling down the street and actually SINGING IN THE RAIN even though I didn't have an umbrella or one of those kicky, plastic-raincoat-hat thingies. However, the day was not content with me being content and spent its time dragging my mood through the mud and the poop and the rain until all I wanted to do was put on my pajamas, curl up in a ball on the sofa, and watch sad, sappy movies. Today, my mood fits very well with the weather, which yes, is very, very shitty.
Stupid weather. I hate being in a bad mood so I have just decided to snap out of it. Easy, right? Click, boom, happy now. Why shouldn't I be? I get to see a bunch of my friends this weekend and next weekend . . . oh, next weekend, I am going to Chicago and it will be LEGENDARY, just like last time only hopefully this time we will have better CARma. Mary, you know what I'm talking about. Ha, I don't think she even reads this. Oh man, I'm sorry I'm on crack. I shouldn't even post this (but I will) because it is the laziest, most boring entry ever in the history of this blog. And that's saying something.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Four years of malfeasance unreported! This cannot stand!
Guys, I tried to stay away from The Office quotes, but I missed them even though they were only gone for ONE DAY. It was a long day.
I'm going to take a minute to talk about American Idol. Just a minute. Because I stopped watching The Amazing Race when Alias came back (sorry, Philiminator) and I've lost all interest in Survivor, including Terry, the least likeable underdog EVER. SIGH.
I think Elliot will be gone next and it makes my heart so very, very sad. I have loved him from day one and defended his bad, bad teeth (seriously, Elliot, call me because I can totally do something about that) when my mom rudely made fun of his dental deficiency. Can't he just stay for one more week? Please? Get rid of Taylor, who I don't mind until he starts, you know, talking and doing that stupid "soul patrol and then have a tiny seizure" schtick or even Chris (oh man, I totally wrote "Christ" at first and he is not even on the show) because I still haven't quite forgiven him for singing Creed.
Speaking of Creed, there is a character named Creed on The Office and I love that show. Nice segue, huh? Anyway, it is SUPER SIZED (that's what she said) tomorrow and Jim wears a cute sweater so I'm excited.
Is it obvious yet that I really don't have anything to say? Ok, good. I'm eating blueberry yogurt. It is delicious.
Last night, after TV time, Roommate and I hung some stuff on the walls so it would look like a real home, not a model home, although with our mish-mash of furniture it doesn't so much look like a model home as a . . . I'm not gonna lie, I don't even know where I was going with that so I'm just going to stop.
Anyway, so we hung a bunch of stuff. It looks nice, almost like we used a tape measure and a level. We didn't, although I think that goes without saying. So I'm not sure why I just said it. When I moved out of my last apartment and it came time to fill in the nail holes with wall putty my dad laughed and shook his head many, many times. Know why? Because there wasn't just one hole per picture to be filled in, there were tiny clusters of holes for each picture because sometimes I had to try a couple of times to get the picture in the exact right place.
And, Dad, you will be happy to know that, when it came time to hang stuff in my bedroom last night, I did learn from my mistakes, because, while I did have to try several times to get the nails in the right places, I made sure all the mistake-holes were hidden behind the pictures. Also, I still need help hanging my shelves. And by help, I mean can you please do it for me while I stand back and watch. And by stand back and watch I mean get distracted by loud noises and shiny objects and also Phoebe because she's funny sometimes.
Unless, of course, you want to leave me unattended with a power drill.
I'm going to take a minute to talk about American Idol. Just a minute. Because I stopped watching The Amazing Race when Alias came back (sorry, Philiminator) and I've lost all interest in Survivor, including Terry, the least likeable underdog EVER. SIGH.
I think Elliot will be gone next and it makes my heart so very, very sad. I have loved him from day one and defended his bad, bad teeth (seriously, Elliot, call me because I can totally do something about that) when my mom rudely made fun of his dental deficiency. Can't he just stay for one more week? Please? Get rid of Taylor, who I don't mind until he starts, you know, talking and doing that stupid "soul patrol and then have a tiny seizure" schtick or even Chris (oh man, I totally wrote "Christ" at first and he is not even on the show) because I still haven't quite forgiven him for singing Creed.
Speaking of Creed, there is a character named Creed on The Office and I love that show. Nice segue, huh? Anyway, it is SUPER SIZED (that's what she said) tomorrow and Jim wears a cute sweater so I'm excited.
Is it obvious yet that I really don't have anything to say? Ok, good. I'm eating blueberry yogurt. It is delicious.
Last night, after TV time, Roommate and I hung some stuff on the walls so it would look like a real home, not a model home, although with our mish-mash of furniture it doesn't so much look like a model home as a . . . I'm not gonna lie, I don't even know where I was going with that so I'm just going to stop.
Anyway, so we hung a bunch of stuff. It looks nice, almost like we used a tape measure and a level. We didn't, although I think that goes without saying. So I'm not sure why I just said it. When I moved out of my last apartment and it came time to fill in the nail holes with wall putty my dad laughed and shook his head many, many times. Know why? Because there wasn't just one hole per picture to be filled in, there were tiny clusters of holes for each picture because sometimes I had to try a couple of times to get the picture in the exact right place.
And, Dad, you will be happy to know that, when it came time to hang stuff in my bedroom last night, I did learn from my mistakes, because, while I did have to try several times to get the nails in the right places, I made sure all the mistake-holes were hidden behind the pictures. Also, I still need help hanging my shelves. And by help, I mean can you please do it for me while I stand back and watch. And by stand back and watch I mean get distracted by loud noises and shiny objects and also Phoebe because she's funny sometimes.
Unless, of course, you want to leave me unattended with a power drill.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
If coincidences are just coincidences then why do they feel so contrived.
Ok, so I know that isn't a quote from The Office, but it IS a quote from a TV show and 10 points to whoever can tell me what TV show it's from without the help of Google. I mean, you can totally use Google, it's not like I'd know. It's not like I'm stalking you or STANDING RIGHT BEHIND YOU WATCH OUT.
Um. Anyway. This morning on the way to work I got caught in a traffic jam on 675, which had turned into a parking lot if, you know, parking lots consisted of cars parked in three long lines and all the cars were running and moving. So, ok, maybe not like a parking lot at all but like a highway that is moving really fucking slowly. Since my normal commute was extended by about half an hour, I had some time to listen to the radio and think. I thought, having moved farther away from where I work, that I would hate the longer drive but I actually enjoy it. It gives me time to prepare myself for the day ahead and by prepare myself, I mean take lots of deep, cleansing breaths so I don't axe murder someone by the end of the day. I've had some close calls, you know. Anyway, so I didn't really mind getting caught in traffic this morning. I got to enjoy my coffee instead of gulping it down like I normally do, burning several layers of tissue from my esophagus in the process. I got a little lost in my head and if I said I don't remember what I was thinking about I'd totally be lying so instead of lying I'll just say it's none of your goddamn business, ok? Seriously, give me a little privacy. STOP ASKING. No, I will not tell you who I was thinking about. Shit, I think I just gave something away. You caught me. I was thinking about Phoebe, my cat, my companion, the love of my life. Not really. She's kind of a bitch but then, she does take after her owner.
Wow, what was I talking about? Oh, right, traffic jam. So, the best part about being stuck in traffic, aside from giving me more time to obsess about things I should just drop already, was that I got to spend more time than usual listening to my favorite radio station. That's right, OLDIES, baby! I love the oldies radio station, although sometimes they play songs that I don't consider oldies. Like "Your Song" by Elton John? I have absolutely no idea what year that song came out but I don't think of it as an Oldies station classic . . . more of an Adult Lite Radio type of deal. I'm not bashing that song AT ALL. There is a special place in my cold, dead heart for that song and if I hear it on the radio, not only do I listen to it, I turn it up as loud as it will go, sing as loud as I will go, and have a special little moment in the car. Yes, I DID just share that and no I am NOT embarrassed.
Do you guys believe in signs? I try to tell myself I don't but I fall victim to them every now and then. This morning, in the span of about ten minutes, I heard "Hey Jude" twice. It was on the Oldies station and then, when a commercial came on, I started scanning for another song and it was on another station. I know that song is probably an Oldies station staple, but I hardly ever hear it although I do LOVE IT caps lock off. So, I started thinking it was weird that I'd heard it twice, back to back like that, but I don't have any special connection to that song or anything. Other than singing on karaoke at my friend Steph's birthday party but I wasn't even the one holding the microphone. So. Yeah. I guess it's not so much a sign as it is a weird coincidence but that's hardly as much fun.
Um. Anyway. This morning on the way to work I got caught in a traffic jam on 675, which had turned into a parking lot if, you know, parking lots consisted of cars parked in three long lines and all the cars were running and moving. So, ok, maybe not like a parking lot at all but like a highway that is moving really fucking slowly. Since my normal commute was extended by about half an hour, I had some time to listen to the radio and think. I thought, having moved farther away from where I work, that I would hate the longer drive but I actually enjoy it. It gives me time to prepare myself for the day ahead and by prepare myself, I mean take lots of deep, cleansing breaths so I don't axe murder someone by the end of the day. I've had some close calls, you know. Anyway, so I didn't really mind getting caught in traffic this morning. I got to enjoy my coffee instead of gulping it down like I normally do, burning several layers of tissue from my esophagus in the process. I got a little lost in my head and if I said I don't remember what I was thinking about I'd totally be lying so instead of lying I'll just say it's none of your goddamn business, ok? Seriously, give me a little privacy. STOP ASKING. No, I will not tell you who I was thinking about. Shit, I think I just gave something away. You caught me. I was thinking about Phoebe, my cat, my companion, the love of my life. Not really. She's kind of a bitch but then, she does take after her owner.
Wow, what was I talking about? Oh, right, traffic jam. So, the best part about being stuck in traffic, aside from giving me more time to obsess about things I should just drop already, was that I got to spend more time than usual listening to my favorite radio station. That's right, OLDIES, baby! I love the oldies radio station, although sometimes they play songs that I don't consider oldies. Like "Your Song" by Elton John? I have absolutely no idea what year that song came out but I don't think of it as an Oldies station classic . . . more of an Adult Lite Radio type of deal. I'm not bashing that song AT ALL. There is a special place in my cold, dead heart for that song and if I hear it on the radio, not only do I listen to it, I turn it up as loud as it will go, sing as loud as I will go, and have a special little moment in the car. Yes, I DID just share that and no I am NOT embarrassed.
Do you guys believe in signs? I try to tell myself I don't but I fall victim to them every now and then. This morning, in the span of about ten minutes, I heard "Hey Jude" twice. It was on the Oldies station and then, when a commercial came on, I started scanning for another song and it was on another station. I know that song is probably an Oldies station staple, but I hardly ever hear it although I do LOVE IT caps lock off. So, I started thinking it was weird that I'd heard it twice, back to back like that, but I don't have any special connection to that song or anything. Other than singing on karaoke at my friend Steph's birthday party but I wasn't even the one holding the microphone. So. Yeah. I guess it's not so much a sign as it is a weird coincidence but that's hardly as much fun.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Remember on Lost, when they met the others?
I just want everyone to know that I was in a church last night for my cousin's confirmation, and I did not get struck by lightening and the church did not fall down upon my head like some people thought it might, DAD.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
that's what she said
You know how in every pair of roommates, there is usually a weird one? Well, realizing yesterday that my roommate, for the most part, has her shit together I'm starting to worry that I am the headcase. She pays her bills on time, doesn't procrastinate on important things, and eats well-balanced meals (aside from that night we had cheesecake and cupcakes for dinner). I'm the one who regularly makes dinner out of a couple of crackers and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I'm the one who falls down after one drink. I'm the one pretends she doesn't hear it when her car makes a funny noise. I'm the one who can't even tell a boy she likes him and instead obsesses about it to her roommate and I'm beginning to think she is going to duct tape my mouth shut. And I wouldn't blame her. I'll even supply the duct tape.
It's OK, though. I don't mind being the crazy one. It's not like she doesn't have her own share of crazy, it's just that my crazy outweighs hers by, like, a lot. A fact that I think she's beginning to suspect. I saw the look in her eye when I showed her my "What Would Elizabeth Bennet Do?" t-shirt. That look said, "who is this lunatic I have picked to live with and I know she is my friend, but I am totally going to check and see if my bedroom door has a lock."
It's OK, though. I don't mind being the crazy one. It's not like she doesn't have her own share of crazy, it's just that my crazy outweighs hers by, like, a lot. A fact that I think she's beginning to suspect. I saw the look in her eye when I showed her my "What Would Elizabeth Bennet Do?" t-shirt. That look said, "who is this lunatic I have picked to live with and I know she is my friend, but I am totally going to check and see if my bedroom door has a lock."
I enjoy the tangy ziiip . . . of Miracle Whiiiip
Does your dad send you important information such as this? Until he does, he is not as cool as my dad. And no matter what your beliefs, I really think a Fraggle Rock movie is something we can all get behind. I'm a little confused about why the movie is taking place in space, because how are Marjorie the trash heap and her two little rats (names?) supposed to go to space? That is just illogical. You know. More illogical than the fact that she is a TALKING TRASH HEAP.
Ok, so last night my roommate went to her boyfriend's and I decided to stay in and do nothing. Well, I had planned on trying to get some stuff done around the apartment but all I really accomplished was hanging the clock on the wall. Which, to be fair, is a pretty big accomplishment because we were both getting tired of trying to figure out what time it was based on the positioning of the sun.
Once I had finished this great task, I ate dinner and watched some movies and then wrote a blog entry that I realized after I could never, ever, ever, never EVER post so that was a waste of 20 minutes. Of course, it's still sitting there in draft mode. And I drink a lot and we will soon have DSL which means it could accidentally get posted. So there's that.
I am about to share something that will make me seem sad and pathetic. Ok, several things. First of all? I watched The Wedding Planner last night. I KNOW. I need intervention or something. Then I watched The Village (not as sad) because I wanted to watch a movie that had Joaquin Phoenix in it and I had lent my copy of Walk the Line to a friend (ok, kind of sad and someone needs to take away all my Walk the Line related materials, because I'm pretty sure if my roommate hears me singing Jackson or Cry Cry Cry one more time she is going to move out or strangle me in my sleep). Then I tried to watch SNL. I fell asleep a couple of times and do you want to know why I just didn't get off the couch and go to bed? Because I was waiting for my laundry to get done in the dryer. Yes, not only could I not stay awake past midnight, I was doing LAUNDRY on a SATURDAY NIGHT. Someone needs to revoke my Fun Card.
And I'm pretty sure that one of the times I woke up during SNL, Tom Hanks was in a leather vest singing about testicles. Someone please tell me that this really happened because I really hope that is not something my brain came up with OTHERWISE I think I need to check myself into some sort of mental facility.
Ok, so last night my roommate went to her boyfriend's and I decided to stay in and do nothing. Well, I had planned on trying to get some stuff done around the apartment but all I really accomplished was hanging the clock on the wall. Which, to be fair, is a pretty big accomplishment because we were both getting tired of trying to figure out what time it was based on the positioning of the sun.
Once I had finished this great task, I ate dinner and watched some movies and then wrote a blog entry that I realized after I could never, ever, ever, never EVER post so that was a waste of 20 minutes. Of course, it's still sitting there in draft mode. And I drink a lot and we will soon have DSL which means it could accidentally get posted. So there's that.
I am about to share something that will make me seem sad and pathetic. Ok, several things. First of all? I watched The Wedding Planner last night. I KNOW. I need intervention or something. Then I watched The Village (not as sad) because I wanted to watch a movie that had Joaquin Phoenix in it and I had lent my copy of Walk the Line to a friend (ok, kind of sad and someone needs to take away all my Walk the Line related materials, because I'm pretty sure if my roommate hears me singing Jackson or Cry Cry Cry one more time she is going to move out or strangle me in my sleep). Then I tried to watch SNL. I fell asleep a couple of times and do you want to know why I just didn't get off the couch and go to bed? Because I was waiting for my laundry to get done in the dryer. Yes, not only could I not stay awake past midnight, I was doing LAUNDRY on a SATURDAY NIGHT. Someone needs to revoke my Fun Card.
And I'm pretty sure that one of the times I woke up during SNL, Tom Hanks was in a leather vest singing about testicles. Someone please tell me that this really happened because I really hope that is not something my brain came up with OTHERWISE I think I need to check myself into some sort of mental facility.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Dwight tried to kiss me. And I didn't tell anyone, because I'm not really sure how I feel about it.
Last night I came home from the bar with sand in my shoes. And in my pocket. That pretty much sums up last night.
Not really. At all. But, wouldn't you rather imagine how I managed to get sand all over me in the middle of a city in Ohio? The real story, as usual, is not that interesting. I played cornhole on the sand volleyball court that was part of the bar we went to, after getting silly on margaritas during dinner. I could have taken my shoes off, but the sand was really cold. Not like . . . frostbite cold, but cold enough to make me complain loudly enough that I was told to just put my shoes on already.
The not wallowing, in case you were interested, turned out really well. Best. Cinco. De Mayo. Ever. Tequila, I've found, solves most problems.
Not really. At all. But, wouldn't you rather imagine how I managed to get sand all over me in the middle of a city in Ohio? The real story, as usual, is not that interesting. I played cornhole on the sand volleyball court that was part of the bar we went to, after getting silly on margaritas during dinner. I could have taken my shoes off, but the sand was really cold. Not like . . . frostbite cold, but cold enough to make me complain loudly enough that I was told to just put my shoes on already.
The not wallowing, in case you were interested, turned out really well. Best. Cinco. De Mayo. Ever. Tequila, I've found, solves most problems.
Friday, May 05, 2006
I sat at my desk all day with a rifle that shoots potatoes at 60 pounds per square inch. Can you imagine if I was deranged?
Today's post could start out just like yesterday's, because I am totally listening to the Walk the Line soundtrack (yes, again, or should I say, STILL) AND I'm at work but it's not about to rain and I'm totally not thinking about you. So there. Ha. Also, I am a liar.
What I really want to do tonight is wallow. Sit in my pajamas and watch Breakfast at Tiffany's (or better yet, last night's episode of The Office because how awesome was that?) and go over and over things in my head until I wish I had several bottles of wine in the near vicinity to drown out my stupid, obsessive thoughts. Not really being one to wallow (ha!), I am instead going out. Because it's Cinco de Mayo. And, even after several years of Spanish classes, I'm still not really sure what that means. Other than half-price margaritas chock-full of tequila. And refillable baskets of chips and salsa. Not both in the basket, though, because that would be messy and the chips would get all soggy and who wants to eat soggy tortilla chips? Not me. Sidenote, I pronounced "tortilla" like "tortill-ya" until high school. Not sure why I shared that. I guess to let you all know that I wasn't always the witty sophisticate you see before you.
Last Sunday, my roommate, Heidi, and I bought tennis rackets. Cheap ones, because pretty much the only thing we know about tennis is you hit the ball with your racket over and over. I bought mine with one of several gift certificates I received for my birthday, all of which were spent in record time. And in the case of Half-Price Books, I spent double what the gift certificate was. It's OK, though, because I got a free tote bag (purple) for spending more than $30. It was like two presents in one! FYI, do not go into that store with me unless you are prepared to spend a great amount of time there because I go through the aisles at least twice and I totally look at every book on every shelf. Also, don't judge me if I drool because so many cheap, cheap books in one place gets me a little excited.
ANYWAY. So. We bought tennis rackets. And tennis balls. Pink ones. The pink ones cost more, but they're so pretty. We played tennis for the first time on Monday night. It was not as pretty as our pink balls (that's what she said, tee and hee). I think we made contact with the ball on about 1 out of 5 swings. Also, there are two courts but we've decided that we are not allowed to play if someone else is on the other one. Not only because of our really embarrassing tennis "skills," but because we tend to use both courts equally even if we're concentrating very hard on just using the one. Watch out, Williams sisters.
Last night we played again and I have to say we improved remarkably. Although, to be fair, I don't think we could have gotten any worse. Our skills were so stellar that we were hooted at by some guys in a Jeep. Nice, boys, my self-esteem thanks you.
Heidi's boyfriend Nick and his roommate apparently play tennis all the time and for some reason that I cannot fathom Heidi told Nick that she and I were really excellent tennis players. I asked her what was going to happen when Nick and his roommate want to play us and her answer? "One of us will be sick that day." Very convenient. This all could have been avoided if she had just told him that we suck, but maybe we can put off this match long enough to improve enough not to embarrass ourselves. You know. On the tennis court, anyway. Because Heidi and I plus half-price margaritas will lead to one or both of us embarrassing ourselves in some way. And I can't wait. (I think it's her weekend, though, because I totally took care of embarrassing myself last weekend.)
Also, I'm wearing this shirt today, which I'm pretty excited about because it should make standing in line at the post office later really interesting but mostly because it's fucking awesome.
See? This is me. Not wallowing.
What I really want to do tonight is wallow. Sit in my pajamas and watch Breakfast at Tiffany's (or better yet, last night's episode of The Office because how awesome was that?) and go over and over things in my head until I wish I had several bottles of wine in the near vicinity to drown out my stupid, obsessive thoughts. Not really being one to wallow (ha!), I am instead going out. Because it's Cinco de Mayo. And, even after several years of Spanish classes, I'm still not really sure what that means. Other than half-price margaritas chock-full of tequila. And refillable baskets of chips and salsa. Not both in the basket, though, because that would be messy and the chips would get all soggy and who wants to eat soggy tortilla chips? Not me. Sidenote, I pronounced "tortilla" like "tortill-ya" until high school. Not sure why I shared that. I guess to let you all know that I wasn't always the witty sophisticate you see before you.
Last Sunday, my roommate, Heidi, and I bought tennis rackets. Cheap ones, because pretty much the only thing we know about tennis is you hit the ball with your racket over and over. I bought mine with one of several gift certificates I received for my birthday, all of which were spent in record time. And in the case of Half-Price Books, I spent double what the gift certificate was. It's OK, though, because I got a free tote bag (purple) for spending more than $30. It was like two presents in one! FYI, do not go into that store with me unless you are prepared to spend a great amount of time there because I go through the aisles at least twice and I totally look at every book on every shelf. Also, don't judge me if I drool because so many cheap, cheap books in one place gets me a little excited.
ANYWAY. So. We bought tennis rackets. And tennis balls. Pink ones. The pink ones cost more, but they're so pretty. We played tennis for the first time on Monday night. It was not as pretty as our pink balls (that's what she said, tee and hee). I think we made contact with the ball on about 1 out of 5 swings. Also, there are two courts but we've decided that we are not allowed to play if someone else is on the other one. Not only because of our really embarrassing tennis "skills," but because we tend to use both courts equally even if we're concentrating very hard on just using the one. Watch out, Williams sisters.
Last night we played again and I have to say we improved remarkably. Although, to be fair, I don't think we could have gotten any worse. Our skills were so stellar that we were hooted at by some guys in a Jeep. Nice, boys, my self-esteem thanks you.
Heidi's boyfriend Nick and his roommate apparently play tennis all the time and for some reason that I cannot fathom Heidi told Nick that she and I were really excellent tennis players. I asked her what was going to happen when Nick and his roommate want to play us and her answer? "One of us will be sick that day." Very convenient. This all could have been avoided if she had just told him that we suck, but maybe we can put off this match long enough to improve enough not to embarrass ourselves. You know. On the tennis court, anyway. Because Heidi and I plus half-price margaritas will lead to one or both of us embarrassing ourselves in some way. And I can't wait. (I think it's her weekend, though, because I totally took care of embarrassing myself last weekend.)
Also, I'm wearing this shirt today, which I'm pretty excited about because it should make standing in line at the post office later really interesting but mostly because it's fucking awesome.
See? This is me. Not wallowing.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Well, the cat's out of the bag. I used to have a crush on Pam, and now I don't. Riveting.
It's about to start raining and I'm at work alone, listening to the Walk the Line soundtrack, and thinking about you. Like I always seem to be lately. How long can you have a crush on someone before it becomes absolutely pathetic? Because I think, I think, I just might be there. Or how long before it goes away? I stopped denying it months ago, so I'm pretty sure that's a step in the right direction.
For a long time, I was afraid to tell anyone, like I'm afraid to tell anyone almost anything personal. I wouldn't talk about it, I'd deny it if it was ever brought up, and I certainly wouldn't write about it. This post has been sitting in draft mode all day as I wonder whether to publish it or just delete it entirely. I don't know what I'm always so afraid of. Not talking about something won't make it go away, but I sure try my hardest.
Don't expect me to do anything drastic. I don't do that (see previous post) but I do think about it. What I'd say and when I'd say it. Then I get depressed because, once again, I'm living more inside my head than in my real life. I've said that before, I think. It seems like lately all I write about is my inability to take action on anything.
On Saturday, we were trying to decide what game to play and, still tired from the night before, I suggested we play the game where we all sit still and don't move. "I think that's called paralysis," Nick said, obviously proud of himself. As he should be. It was funny. I laughed. Hell, it made me giggle just thinking about it now. Until I realized that I spend most of my life playing that game and then it wasn't quite so funny.
For a long time, I was afraid to tell anyone, like I'm afraid to tell anyone almost anything personal. I wouldn't talk about it, I'd deny it if it was ever brought up, and I certainly wouldn't write about it. This post has been sitting in draft mode all day as I wonder whether to publish it or just delete it entirely. I don't know what I'm always so afraid of. Not talking about something won't make it go away, but I sure try my hardest.
Don't expect me to do anything drastic. I don't do that (see previous post) but I do think about it. What I'd say and when I'd say it. Then I get depressed because, once again, I'm living more inside my head than in my real life. I've said that before, I think. It seems like lately all I write about is my inability to take action on anything.
On Saturday, we were trying to decide what game to play and, still tired from the night before, I suggested we play the game where we all sit still and don't move. "I think that's called paralysis," Nick said, obviously proud of himself. As he should be. It was funny. I laughed. Hell, it made me giggle just thinking about it now. Until I realized that I spend most of my life playing that game and then it wasn't quite so funny.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
When I was in the 6th grade I was a finalist in our school spelling bee. I misspelled, in front of the entire school, the word failure.
I was watching Friends last night and I got to thinking*. I don't know if watching Friends had anything to do with it. Well, I guess it did, because it was the one where Joey and Rachel make out in Barbados or something and I got to wondering how two friends end up together. Is it a matter of convenience, because you already know a lot about them and you obviously enjoy being around each other? Or like, "oh, I'm around this person anyway so we might as well have some sex and babies?" Um, Ross, Rachel, I'm looking at you two. You too, Monica and Chandler. Ok, I'll stop talking about Friends now.
Also, why are these huge life-changing hook-ups on TV shows and movies always preceded by some long talk about feelings or some big, rehearsed speech about blah, blah, I've always loved you and I always will, etc. McGeorgie, you are guilty of this, don't try and deny it. Yes, I just addressed a made-up doctor by a made-up nickname SO WHAT. These big speeches always come when the person has reached the end of their rope, when they just can't hold their feelings in ANY LONGER, but I don't think I've ever gotten to that point. In my experience, the things I'm dying to say never EVER end up coming out of my mouth and if they do, chances are I've been drinking and if THAT happens I usually don't remember saying it and if I DO remember saying it I can always use the Perfect Golden Excuse . . . "haha, oh man, I was so drunk," which is usually followed by "I totally don't remember that" even if I TOTALLY DO. But really, I probably don't.
No, I have not been drinking right now.
It's funny, though. Those big, rehearsed speeches are always my favorite part of the movie, even though they never happen in real life. Not to me, anyway. Actually, if someone told me they liked me (which, seriously, how often does that happen? NEVER) in such a way I'd probably start giggling. Or compare it to one of those speeches in a movie and start thinking, "why aren't you talking like Mr. Darcy?," or "that's not the way I would have written it."
That doesn't mean you shouldn't try. Even if I will be mentally editing your words.
*I KNOW, just shut up.
Also, why are these huge life-changing hook-ups on TV shows and movies always preceded by some long talk about feelings or some big, rehearsed speech about blah, blah, I've always loved you and I always will, etc. McGeorgie, you are guilty of this, don't try and deny it. Yes, I just addressed a made-up doctor by a made-up nickname SO WHAT. These big speeches always come when the person has reached the end of their rope, when they just can't hold their feelings in ANY LONGER, but I don't think I've ever gotten to that point. In my experience, the things I'm dying to say never EVER end up coming out of my mouth and if they do, chances are I've been drinking and if THAT happens I usually don't remember saying it and if I DO remember saying it I can always use the Perfect Golden Excuse . . . "haha, oh man, I was so drunk," which is usually followed by "I totally don't remember that" even if I TOTALLY DO. But really, I probably don't.
No, I have not been drinking right now.
It's funny, though. Those big, rehearsed speeches are always my favorite part of the movie, even though they never happen in real life. Not to me, anyway. Actually, if someone told me they liked me (which, seriously, how often does that happen? NEVER) in such a way I'd probably start giggling. Or compare it to one of those speeches in a movie and start thinking, "why aren't you talking like Mr. Darcy?," or "that's not the way I would have written it."
That doesn't mean you shouldn't try. Even if I will be mentally editing your words.
*I KNOW, just shut up.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Did you hear? Somebody totally rocked the house and got me the best present I’ve ever gotten.
My birthday celebration has come and gone. I guess I could be all sad that my friends totally ditched me and went home JUST because they had to go back to work. How selfish is that? I mean, come on. But it was honestly one of the best weekends EVER in the history of the world and also other worlds that have not been discovered yet.
On Friday, I finally did a little mechanical bull investigation and discovered that the only bar rumored to have a mechanical bull did INDEED have one . . . but it was broken. Truly tragic. So, instead, we went to a karaoke bar. And I sang. Guys. I never sing. I do not like making an exhibition of myself in public and I try to avoid the spotlight at all times, because when I am in front of people and they're all looking at me and waiting for me to do something, I get embarrassed and my face gets all red and then some asshole (Mary) tells me my face is getting red and then it gets more and more red until I explode or fall through the floor because my face got so hot that I melted. That, my friends, was the longest, most incoherent sentence I have ever written. Sober.
That said, we totally rocked "Ring of Fire." And when I say totally rocked, I mean Johnny Cash probably rolled over in his grave. Sorry, Johnny, but you know I heart you.
You know what is an asshole move? Putting someone's name in to sing karaoke while they are making friends in the bathroom with someone named Pam, who will later breakdance on the karaoke stage. In her track pants.
Saturday was WittFest, and we all spent the majority of the time sitting around and recovering from Friday night. I don't want to say things got out of control on Friday, but I have several bruises, some of which I got when someone dropped me. On the cement. Long story. Probably. I think they broke me, though, because I woke up Saturday at 8:30 AM (!!!), Sunday at 8 AM, and then could not sleep Sunday night. My sleep is broken. Help.
Saturday was also the day that The Dirtiest Game of Either Or was played, like EVER. The game is simple. Someone says two things, like "Peanut butter or Jelly" and everyone has to pick one. The person who came up with the category then says the one they choose and whoever DIDN'T say that one has to take a drink. Easy? It is really fun, even when certain engineers try to implement more logic and rules to a game that has pretty much one rule and that is LAUGHTER. Or something. Anyway, things got a little out of control and I think the game broke my brain. I can't stop saying inappropriate things to people I shouldn't be saying them to, like when someone asked me why I was wearing long sleeves yesterday? I told them it was because my arm was bruised from Friday and then? I told them that now I know what an abused wife must feel like. See? Domestic violence is not an appropriate work topic. The filter is no longer there and let's face it, the filter never really worked that well before.
You know, this is probably only interesting to the people who were there this weekend, so I hope the two of you enjoyed it. Hee.
On Friday, I finally did a little mechanical bull investigation and discovered that the only bar rumored to have a mechanical bull did INDEED have one . . . but it was broken. Truly tragic. So, instead, we went to a karaoke bar. And I sang. Guys. I never sing. I do not like making an exhibition of myself in public and I try to avoid the spotlight at all times, because when I am in front of people and they're all looking at me and waiting for me to do something, I get embarrassed and my face gets all red and then some asshole (Mary) tells me my face is getting red and then it gets more and more red until I explode or fall through the floor because my face got so hot that I melted. That, my friends, was the longest, most incoherent sentence I have ever written. Sober.
That said, we totally rocked "Ring of Fire." And when I say totally rocked, I mean Johnny Cash probably rolled over in his grave. Sorry, Johnny, but you know I heart you.
You know what is an asshole move? Putting someone's name in to sing karaoke while they are making friends in the bathroom with someone named Pam, who will later breakdance on the karaoke stage. In her track pants.
Saturday was WittFest, and we all spent the majority of the time sitting around and recovering from Friday night. I don't want to say things got out of control on Friday, but I have several bruises, some of which I got when someone dropped me. On the cement. Long story. Probably. I think they broke me, though, because I woke up Saturday at 8:30 AM (!!!), Sunday at 8 AM, and then could not sleep Sunday night. My sleep is broken. Help.
Saturday was also the day that The Dirtiest Game of Either Or was played, like EVER. The game is simple. Someone says two things, like "Peanut butter or Jelly" and everyone has to pick one. The person who came up with the category then says the one they choose and whoever DIDN'T say that one has to take a drink. Easy? It is really fun, even when certain engineers try to implement more logic and rules to a game that has pretty much one rule and that is LAUGHTER. Or something. Anyway, things got a little out of control and I think the game broke my brain. I can't stop saying inappropriate things to people I shouldn't be saying them to, like when someone asked me why I was wearing long sleeves yesterday? I told them it was because my arm was bruised from Friday and then? I told them that now I know what an abused wife must feel like. See? Domestic violence is not an appropriate work topic. The filter is no longer there and let's face it, the filter never really worked that well before.
You know, this is probably only interesting to the people who were there this weekend, so I hope the two of you enjoyed it. Hee.
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