My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare . . . to DIE.

I'm sure you all want to hear about the concert last night. DON'T LIE, I know you too well. Oh, Michael Buble. His voice is like buttah. I want to have about 10,000 of his babies and NOT just because of his voice, but because he does Blue Steel at his show. Also, I think I experienced the high point of my life when he started singing Ring of Fire I MEAN COME ON.

I have added another prerequisite for my Boyfriend Must Haves (the longer this list gets, the more obvious it becomes why I, in fact, DO NOT have a boyfriend and that is because I am far, far too picky) and it is that he must be able to sing and/or play an instrument. Although, that seems unfair because while I do sing along with the radio, I do not SING and the only instrument I play is . . . well, I don't play one. So I'd be willing to overlook this prerequisite as long as you were willing to take me to Michael Buble concerts. And also if you knew all the words to Ring of Fire. IS THAT TO MUCH TO ASK? It's not like they are that complicated.

Ok, I'm going to dial down the crazy for a moment. Want to hear something weird? We bonded with the girls sitting in front of us because they overheard Stiffie and I making fun of someone's outfit (seriously . . . bright blue pants and A NECKERCHIEF?!) and nothing brings bitches together like bashing a stranger's clothing choices. Anyway, one of them, it turns out, went to Wittenberg. And, although we spent a good portion of the evening talking to them, I never got around to asking her if she ever streaked the Hollow. Damn.

And finally, this is how I would deal with our patients if I were Dr. House:

Patient's Mother: Can I leave her here while I run some errands?
JennieHouse: Sure! I don't mind babysitting at all! Oh, while you're out, would you please fill up my car with premium gasoline and pick up some milk? My cat loves milk and cookies.

Patient: I'm 20 minutes late, is that ok?
JennieHouse: No problem. I'm going to finish this magazine and then I'll be right with you.

Patient: I have a problem.
JennieHouse: Hey, I have lots of those! Let's put on our PJs, paint our toenails, and talk about BOYS, that'll help.

Patient: I NEED blah blah I'm annoying blah.
JennieHouse: Well, I need you to shut the fuck up, please!

Just kidding. Dr. House would never say "fuck" but because The TV Police do not allow it.

Jennie angry! Rooooaaaaaaarrrrrr!!!

Last Friday, I wore this pair of jeans that I found in the back of my closet. Yes, I wore them because I really needed to do laundry, suck it. This particular pair of jeans had a hole in the left knee, a souvenir I picked up about a week after I purchased them, when I tripped over NOTHING and fell down in the street. As it was St. Patrick's Day at the time, I have to surmise that the fall was alcohol-induced.

Anyway, I wore this pair of jeans to work, but it was OK because I was the only one there. Throughout the day, I found myself messing with the hole (heh) in my jeans and eventually I had ripped it completely to the seams, in my mind pretty much rendering the jeans unwearable. Unless I wore them to, I don't know, clean the apartment or wash a car or do some mulching in my nonexistent garden.

Later that night, I decided I would just cut the jeans off at the knee, where the rip was. No, this act was NOT alcohol-induced. Sure, the ends would be frayed but the jeans were ruined anyway so I thought it would be a fun fashion experiment. So I cut them. Like I will cut you if you make fun of me. Just kidding. MAYBE. I tried them on after and thought, OK, they look kind of ridiculous. Like I had just been rescued from a deserted island somewhere. Although, I didn't think they looked too bad if I rolled them up so they ended just above the knee like cute capris that I had actually purchased in a store, not made myself in some bizarre, Frankenstein experiment. Unfortunately, I left them unrolled when I walked into the living room to show my roommate and she immediately started laughing. As she should have. When she finally gathered her wits, she had some questions. As she should have.

Heidi: What did you do?
Me: I was just trying something.
Heidi: You realize you look like the Incredible Hulk, right?
Me: Thanks?
Heidi: Wow.
Me: Look, they aren't so bad if I roll them up.
Heidi: . . .
Me: See?
Heidi: Yeah, I still don't think I'd wear them out of the house.

So I haven't worn them out of the house. HOWEVER. Heidi and I saw someone at the zoo wearing my Incredible Hulk pants. Which, OK, it was the zoo so maybe that's a bad example. But then we went to dinner, a semi-nice restaurant, and someone there was wearing them. I will ignore the fact that she was wearing hot pink espadrilles because that was disturbing on SEVERAL levels. Ok, off topic (yes, there was a topic . . . I think) but you know what other foot phenomenon I find disturbing? Crocs. WTF? Those are the ugliest goddamn shoes I have ever seen in my life. And that includes every pair of Jellies I had when I was little.

Anyway, my point is, I think it's OK for me to wear my Incredible Hulk pants out of the house now. Obviously I am some sort of fashion idiot savant who has either started a trend or predicted one. Either way . . . as someone whose wardrobe consists mostly of jeans and different colored shirts of the same style, I'm pretty proud.

To completely change the subject, I'm going to a Michael Buble concert tomorrow night. Please cross your fingers that it doesn't rain, because it's outside. I'm pretty excited, and NOT just because I get to say "Boob-lay" all day long although I'm fairly certain that his name is one of the main reasons I like him.

Also, this is my second post today (did I just BLOW YOUR MIND?) and my third in the past 24 hours, so I'm thinking the whole "sick of myself" theory is shot at this point.

If you're particularly annoying, you may see me reach for this: this is Vicodin. It's mine! No, you can't have any!

I'm having a problem accepting the fact that it's almost JULY. When the hell did that happen? I would really, really appreciate it if time would stop or slow down for a couple of days while I catch up. And if it could stop or slow down sometime this weekend, or even Monday (ok, especially Monday), that'd be even better. I don't need time to go any slower at work, thank you.

So yesterday I started writing a novel. A novel, that sounds so pretentious, but that's what it is. Or what it will be. You know, if I stick with it. And let's face it, the chances of that happening are slim to nil. I love the word "nil." I don't know why. Anyway, so this novel. I've only written two (short) chapters, but I'm liking it so far. With the way I complete projects, it should be finished sometime around 2009. I still haven't finished the scarf I started knitting two summers ago and I never learned how to play the guitar that I purchased in high school. So. Ok, maybe 2009 is a little optimistic.

Recently I have become obsessed with the show House. Not like The Office obsessed, though. I can only focus that completely on one show at a time. But I really, really like House. Hence the title of this entry. He's so deliciously cross all the time. And if there is one thing I enjoy, it's people who are cross. Ahem, MR. DARCY.

Here is the point where I debate whether to just delete this because it's pointless or hit publish because it involves less button pushing. Gee, I wonder which I will choose.

I think "le sigh" pretty much sums it up

I don't know what it is, but lately I have just become so BORED with myself. Going back to read past blog entries makes me all fidgety and cringey and wanting to print out the entire blog and put it in the freezer, much like I want to do when I go back and read old journals from high school.

I'm so sick of being me right now. Being stuck inside my head, thinking and getting embarrassed about the same things constantly when, really, it would be so much easier to just LET THEM GO. Something I seem incapable of doing. I'd like to elaborate. To be completely forthcoming about each and every thought that enters and exits my scrambled brain. To tell you all everything about myself without any thought to the consequences. Actually, that's a lie. A big one. Being forthcoming . . . that's just not me. And no matter how sick I am of that person, I think it'd be better to put a lid on the personal blog entries. I've been trying. After all, I'm running out of room in my freezer.

You woke up the bears! Why did you do that?

For those interested (Kat, I think you were the only one), the zoo was exactly as I remembered it . . . big, confusing, smelly, and WONDERFUL. Except for the people. I have never seen so much pale, dimpled fat on display in my life. That's a lie. I mean, I've been to Disneys both Land and World. The best part of the zoo (besides the penguins, because HELLO, penguins are my favorite) was when we saw the black bear sleeping on a rock and the little boy standing next to us said to his mom, "Haha, that bear looks like a pile of poop!" Because poop references are funny, even when they come from small children. Alright, ESPECIALLY when they come from small children.

I would post pictures of my favorite animals . . . but see, here's the deal. I had to reload Windows on my computer (yes, again) and I haven't reinstalled the software for my digital camera even though it's been like a month, so you see I cannot load the pictures from my camera onto my computer until I load the software and the chance of that happening in the next couple of days or even weeks is, well, not good. Sorry. If you want to see pictures of my favorite animals go here. Try not to smile and have warm, fuzzy feelings I DARE YOU.

Our plan was to go to the zoo all day long, but we got up late (who is surprised, raise your hand, NO ONE that's what I thought) and by the time we got ready, we didn't have as much time as we'd planned. But it turned out to be OK because we both have adult ADD or something. We'd stare at the zebras and a couple seconds later, one of us would see an elephant and run the opposite direction. I think we spent the most time at the penguin exhibit and I'm not gonna lie, I almost pushed some little kids out of the way so I could stand on the step right next to the glass. I think I mentioned last time that I am short (Judy, I think you asked how short . . . 5'2 and three quarters (shut up, those three quarters of an inch are IMPORTANT) but I'm 5'3 on a tall day and also did you notice the parenthesis inside of parenthesis? That is talent, I know), so I should get to stand right next to the kids at this kind of thing.

Do you want to hear how disgusting I am? Too bad. So, Saturday my roommate and I walked around the zoo for a couple of hours. Then we sat outside to eat dinner. Then we went to a bar. Then a party. Then we slept at her boyfriend's apartment, and it was hotter than balls in there. Eventually, we found our way back to Dayton and went swimming. Well, I went swimming because Heidi is smarter than I am. The water? Was kind of cold. Ok, really cold. And by the time we went swimming it wasn't that hot outside anymore, just pleasantly warm. So last weekend I burned the hell out of my back and this weekend I tried to give myself hypothermia. BRILLIANT. Anyway, so after swimming we ate a late dinner and by that time I was too tired to do anything else so I didn't shower. Yep. I did not wash the layers of sweat, sunscreen, and chlorine off of my skin until this morning and that's only because I couldn't go to work all dirty and gross because they would have sent me home. Actually, that doesn't sound like such a bad plan, so maybe I'll try that next weekend except oh wait, I'm only working three days next week. SCORE.

Thanks to everyone who gave me some book suggestions. I'll definitely be reading all of them (in fact, I already started one) but if anyone has any more I'll be your best friend forever and ever. BFF 4 eva. LYLAS. Wow. Junior high flashbacks are SCARY.

Sometimes you have to just be the boss of dancing

This is going to be disgusting. I'm just warning you. My back is literally PEELING OFF. It's so gross. I mean, dead skin, great bits of it, slowly peeeeeeeeling off of my body. Ugh, I'm making myself nauseous just thinking about it.

Moral of the story? I'll be wearing lots and lots of sunscreen at the zoo. I do not want my face to peel off in the manner of my back. I can hide my back by wearing a shirt but I cannot really hide my face unless I wear a burqa or something, and that seems disrespectful.

You know what's great? Getting a long e-mail from someone you haven't heard from in a while. Yes, Amy, I am talking about you and while I'm at it, please update your blog. Because I am bored. Anyway, she had some book suggestions which gives me an excuse to go to Half Price Books and you know I'll take any excuse to stop in there and drool on the literature.

So, I've been watching America's Next Top Model a lot lately (thank you, TiVo) and have decided that I could never be a model. Physical attributes aside (to begin with, I'm short . . . yeah, really short), I just don't think I could say things like "that's fierce" without giggling or stabbing myself in the eye afterward. Although, I would like to hang out with Janice Dickinson because hello! Bitch is crazy.

AND NOW, Conversations With My Roommate:

Heidi: Did you ever e-mail that guy back?
Me: Oh, no, I forgot. It's probably too late now.
Heidi: Yeaaaaah, it's been like two weeks.
Me: Oh well.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: Unless I e-mailed him and told him I've been in the hospital or something.
Heidi: Yeah, you could say, "I fell down and have been in a coma, sorry!"
Me: Well, I do fall down a lot, so it's not a total lie.
Heidi: True.
Me: Or, "Sorry, my gonorrhea was acting up, but I'm ok now!"
Heidi: "I had a syphilis outbreak!"
Me: Haha! "Don't worry, it's better now! Do you want to meet me?"
Heidi: Hahahaha! "I'm on antibiotics now so everything is under control."
Me: Oh, god. I'm totally dateable.
Heidi: Totally.

como se llama, bonita, mi casa, SHAKIRA SHAKIRA

Today is one of those days where I wish I could write something serious and thought out but instead of putting in all that effort I'm going to talk about my sunburn and other things of that nature. Maybe cowbells. The weather. Underwear. WHO KNOWS?

Anyway, so the sunburn. It doesn't hurt anymore. The burn on my arms and thighs has turned a pleasant shade of brown. Tan, if you will. My back, however . . . while it no longer hurts to wear a bra, I'm definitely peeling and it itches ever so badly. Reason number 46 to have a boyfriend . . . he could rub lotion on my back. Or reason number one (and really, isn't it the only reason?) to have some serial killer/crossdresser keep me in a deep, dark well, lower a basket and shriek, "it puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the HOSE again" at me. Anyone? Bueller? And moving on.

So, I didn't do anything productive last night and do you want to know why? When I got home from work, I saw that TiVo was very kindly recording the entire season of America's Next Top Model: Season the Fourth so OF COURSE I had to watch that all evening. After I watched The Daily Show and you know? If there were a 24 hour Daily Show network I would quit my job and stock up on Red Bull and coffee so I could watch it all. Day. Long. Of course, then I wouldn't have any money so I wouldn't be able to pay for cable or, actually, the Red Bull or the coffee. CONUNDRUM. I suppose I could steal the Red Bull and coffee and for that matter the cable, which would probably end in disaster one night when the cable went out and I jittered up to the roof to try and fix it and ended up electrocuting myself or strangling myself with the cable wire. True story.

Another factor in my nonproductivity was the Big Brother show last night, which . . . OK, was kind of boring. I had already learned from the Internets who the 20 finalists were going to be and some of them were no brainers anyway so . . . there was an hour wasted. Well, more like an 55 minutes because about five minutes showcased my Reality TV Boyfriend Kaysar (different than my Fictional TV Boyfriend Jim Halpert) and any time spent looking at Kaysar is time well spent. So hot. Ok, I'll stop now.

I'm in a book rut. Does anyone have any suggestions? I have unread books to read, of course, from my last couple of stops at Half-Price Books, but none of them are inspiring me to actually pick them up and read them. HELP. ME.

Showing one’s teeth is a submission signal in primates. When someone smiles at me, all I see is a chimpanzee begging for its life.

I was supposed to go to Alabama with some friends this weekend, but because of my bad CARma (haha, GET IT) and the expenses associated with it, I had to scratch those plans. Instead, I think my roommate and I are going to go to the Cincinnati Zoo on Saturday. While I cannot afford to travel to the far lands of the South, I think I can manage to swing the admission fee for the zoo, in case anyone else would like to passive aggressively comment about the state of my financial affairs. Oh wait, that was kind of passive aggressive of ME, wasn't it? Ah well. It's my blog and I'll bitch if I want to.

ANYWAY. I'm probably way more excited for the zoo than I should be but it's because I haven't been there in SO LONG. I should probably downplay my expectations just a little considering my hatred of people in large groups, especially in hot weather when the number of large women and hairy, hairy men in tiny tank tops is heightened exponentially. BUT I DON'T CARE. I can't wait to see these guys but I kind of hope Heidi wants to skip these guys. Oh my freaking lord, that picture scares the hell out of me. But these guys! And these guys! I might hyperventilate I'm so excited! Heidi should probably bring one of those little kid leashes so I don't run away and fall into the bear pit or something. But if I did, hopefully Baxter would save me and then I would take him to foggy London town because he is my little gentleman.

WOW, this entry sure took a fast trip to Crazytown, didn't it? I think I set a new record for myself.

gutter, mind . . . mind, gutter

A little while ago, the UPS man came in, looked at me and said, "If you're cold, I've got a package that will warm you up," and after I stared blankly at him for a few moments I realized that a) I was wearing a jacket because the average temperature in our office is -17 degrees, and b) he was holding a box that had probably been sitting in his 85+ degree truck for a couple hours.

But it didn't stop me from giggling.

Pam Beesley is in my Top 8

You know what the best thing about Myspace is? Looking up people from high school that I hated and seeing how fat they've gotten, how many kids they have, and what fast food restaurant they're working at. Yes, it's bitchy but SO WERE THEY. No, I will not share my Myspace profile with you because it's embarrassing enough that I have one. Moving on.

Those of you who may remember my major obsession last summer might be wondering why I have been surprisingly quiet on the subject of Big Brother: All Stars. It's because when I think about it, I get a little too excited and start to worry about my mental health. I'm telling you all this in preparation for any posts which take place after tomorrow's show because you will probably get tired of seeing these words: Kaysar, love, boyfriend, have, babies. Those of you who have been hoping that I'd talk about something other than The Office and my love of TV Boyfriend John Krasinski will get your wish. Although . . . what the hell is wrong with you? The Office is awesome and if you talk shit about my TV Boyfriend I will have to cut you.

It's me. I'm the bobblehead.

I hope everyone had a good Father's Day. Yay for fathers!

So remember how I was going to buy a swimsuit? I tried, I really did, but I haven't found one yet. That didn't stop me from going swimming on Saturday. Don't worry, though, I found a swimsuit in my dresser that I had forgotten about that still mostly fits. There were no wardrobe malfunctions. Oh, and Peter, to answer your question, I'm going to buy the first swimsuit I find that fits right even if it's one of those old lady ones with the little frilly skirt on the bottom. Hot!

So my roommate and I were out by the pool for three hours on Saturday. My poor, fair, European skin had no idea what hit it. Actually, it's not that bad. My back still hurts and the sunburn makes wearing a bra a fun challenge but other than that I only burnt part of my legs. The upper, upper thigh area. I don't know how. Apparently I don't know how to apply sunscreen, which puts me on the same level as, oh, a four year old? Also it's not a good idea to fall asleep by the pool when you are exposing parts of your skin that haven't seen sunlight for months and months. GO FIGURE.

Check out what my roommate's boyfriend bought us. Tell me you're not jealous, YOU LIAR. Dwight Shrute has taken up residence on top of TiVo, a place of great honor where his talents as Assistant (to the) Regional Manager can be fully utilized. Wow, Jennie, shut up. If you guys are lucky, and if I remember later, maybe I will post a picture.

Dwight even watched over our card games on Saturday night, when Lampl and Steve brought their awesomeness to our apartment. We introduced Lampl to the wonders of The Office, through some TiVo'ed episodes, but mainly through Steve and I quoting the show every five minutes which, while probably (probably? hee) annoying, led to the following exchange:

Steve/Me: Abraham Lincoln once said, if you are a racist, I will attack you with the North.
Lampl: Wait, did he really say that?

Good times were had by all. Until this morning, when I woke up and it was Monday and I had to go to work. Seriously, I have a problem with that.

If they stay in there too long, they're gonna get on the same cycle. Wreak havoc on our plumbing.

Today after work I am going shopping for swimsuits. The only thing worse than swimsuit shopping is bra shopping and we all know how I feel about bra shopping. Ugh. I have to buy a new swimsuit because all of my old ones are too big. Which is good. But it means I have to spend money. Which is bad. In theory. Because I do enjoy spending money. And if I want to go swimming without one or both of my boobs flying out (and I really, really do), I'm going to have to spend some money.

Blah, blah, I'm bored. The office is closed for the next week and I will be here all alone. Which technically means I am in charge. And that is why I am wearing jeans and flip flops today. Do you guys call them flip flops or thongs? Sometimes I like to call them thongs because when I say, "have you guys seen my thongs?" or "these thongs hurt my feet," people give me weird looks and I just can never get enough of those. I got one from Heidi last night when I matter-of-factly stated that when I make a sandwich I have to cut it in unequal halves so I know which half to eat first (I have to eat the smaller one first). I pretty much got a blank stare for that, so I didn't continue on to say that when I'm eating chips or pretzels or something I have to eat all the broken ones first. But I do. I don't know why. It's still a step up from certain family members of mine who won't eat a sandwich unless the ingredients have been placed on in the correct order, DAD AND AUNT KAREN I'm looking at you. Hee.

ANYWAY, I'm pretty excited that I don't have to wear scrubs all week. Not that they're not comfortable (because OH they are), but the tops, I feel, give everyone that "so when are you due?" look. Especially if you have even the tiniest amount of boobs. No one has ever actually asked me if I'm pregnant, but I'd hate to think that they are silently judging me for having a child out of wedlock and bringing one more bastard into the world. Hahahahaha. Oh man. Just kidding. I don't care how many babies you have out of wedlock, I just like saying the phrase "out of wedlock." I love bastards!

Speaking of bastards, some representative for the Republican party called our office earlier to tell us we'd been selected for "blah, blah, fake award, donate money" but I didn't actually hear what the award was for because I hung up on them.

Last night, my roommate and I went for a walk because . . . well, it's good exercise and after we started quoting Grey's Anatomy ("Pick me! Choose me! Love me!" . . . yeah, I don't know either) to each other we thought it would be a good idea to get out of the apartment. On our way home we took a lap around Walden Pond (teehee!) and were almost attacked by a gaggle of geeses! It was scary. They hissed at us. Apparently it's nesting season or just after nesting season, because there was something in our apartment newsletter about the goose problem and how it will be over soon because they're going to start using the screamers. That's right. I said The Screamers. The newsletter actually made a special point to tell us not to be alarmed if we heard The Screamers. I'm not exactly sure what The Screamers are as I have not heard them yet. I keep picturing a group of people approaching a bunch of geese and just screaming until the geese look at each other all "wtf?" and then fly away. Also, by the way, I totally want that job.

And now . . . Conversations With My Roommate:

Heidi: Oh, I forgot to tell you this.
Me: Go on.
Heidi: The other day, I was talking to Nick and he was like, "I thought when girls lived together they were supposed to be on the same cycle?"
Me: Um.
Heidi: And I was like, "what are you talking about?" and he must have used your bathroom at some point on Saturday because he said, "Well, let's just say that Jennie's Aunt Flo is in town."
Me: WOW.
Heidi: So I asked him how he knew and he was like, "Heidi, guys stand up to pee and her trashcan is next to the toilet."
Me: Oh . . . my.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: I have to say, I'm a little uncomfortable with how much your boyfriend knows about my uterus.

The end.

I'm in a glass case of emotion!

Today I almost cried at work three times. Three. I counted and then I was happy that I successfully avoided crying at work. I blame it on the hormones. I can use that excuse for only a couple more days and I plan to use it AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.

OH! You guys. I totally forgot to tell you. Remember that short story contest I entered a couple months ago? No? I didn't either. Anyway. So I entered a short story contest a couple of months ago. Good story. And my roommate and I bought a newspaper as we sporadically do . . . for the coupons, you see and NO we're not 60 we're just good at saving. The last time we went to the grocery the cashier told us we were and you do not argue with a Kroger cashier, ok? OK.

What was I saying? Oh, right. So this short story contest . . . the Dayton Daily News is hosting it or whatever, and so I was looking through the paper on Sunday, minding my own business when I see an article about it. This was toward the end of my perusal because I have to read the paper in a very specific way. First, I take out all of the ads and put them in one pile. Then I throw the business section and the sports section on the floor because I don't read those. The classifieds and the real estate section will often end up in that pile BUT NOT ALWAYS because sometimes I like looking at huge houses that I cannot afford. THEN I put the other sections in this order: front page, local, national, life, Parade magazine, and finally, comics because I like to save the best for last and, even though the comics mostly suck, they're still better than reading the rest of the newspaper, which tends to be depressing due to the murders and the war and the gas prices and the monkey president.

WOW, even I don't even really know where I'm going with this anymore. So long story short (hahahaha, that never fails to crack me up so at least ONE person is laughing), I was reading the Life section when I came across the little article about the short story contest. Basically, it was listing the finalists in each category and guess who is one of seven finalists in the Adult Short Story category? That's right, me. Which makes sense, really, because otherwise this whole story would have been kind of pointless. And when I say Adult Short Story category, I mean short stories BY adults, not short stories about boobies, bajengas, and hoo-hoos (oh my).

I wasn't going to say anything until they announced the winners but that is A WHOLE MONTH AWAY and I am excited. Even if I don't win. But I hope I do. I also wasn't going to say anything because I didn't want to jinx myself, but then I realized I was being stupid. Unless I DON'T win, in which case I'm glad I did this so I can blame my loserdom on jinxing myself and not on being a terrible, horrible, no good writer.

You know, I just realized I could have easily made this story a lot shorter, but that would totally defeat the purpose of this blog.

I'm adding a new feature to this blog. I just decided. Right now this very minute. And now I give you . . . Conversations with my Roommate, which honestly I may have embellished just a little but NOT just because I'm a liar, but because I couldn't remember everything word for word, ok? I'M NOT PERFECT:

Me: I like this song.
Heidi: Who sings it?
Me: The Fray.
Heidi: Ooh, I like them, too.
Me: They sing a song that was in a Grey's Anatomy episode.
Heidi: They do?
Me: Never doubt my useless array of knowledge, ok?
Heidi: Ok.
Me: Thank you.
Heidi: They kind of remind me of Maroon 5, before they got all dirty.
Me: Haha, they're dirty now?
Heidi: Well, the lead singer is kind of a manwhore.
Me: Yeah, I guess. I'd still do him, though.
Heidi: Ew.

And SCENE.

Wait, who's "Dwigt?"

Yesterday at Target I walked through someone's fart cloud and almost puked. And then I started giggling because . . . hee hee, fart cloud. Thus proving once again that I have the mentality of a four year old. Six on a good day. Want more proof? I bought a large, beach towel at Target (not for any upcoming beach excursions because this is Ohio and I have no money, but I DO have access to a pool) and I just tied it around my neck like a cape and ran around the apartment pretending I was a superhero. I don't know what my powers would be, though. Procrastination and sarcasm, I suppose, but I don't know if I can disarm my enemies with my biting wit. I might be able to hurt their feelings, though, and we all know that emotional scars run much deeper than the physical ones. ANYWAY.

Speaking of superheros . . . I don't know what to make of that new Uma Thurman/Luke Wilson movie where she plays his ex-girlfriend with . . . superpowers? I don't know. All that I know is Rainn Wilson is in it and that information led to this conversation:

Me: D-W-I-G-H-T.
Heidi: Did you know that Dwight K. Shrute is going to be in a movie?
Nick: Really?
Me: But his name in the movie is unfortunately not Dwight Shrute.
Heidi: Yeah, but he looks just like him.

If you're wondering why I was spelling Dwight's name out of nowhere, it's just because I randomly throw out The Office quotes whenever possible, whether or not they make sense in any given conversation. Try it. It's fun.

Tomorrow is Monday. I don't know how that keeps happening, but I don't like it.

today is 6/9 . . . heh heh heh

This morning as I was driving to work, I got to thinking about how I always like to be prepared. I don't like doing or saying anything unless I know what the other person's reaction is going to be. And if I don't know what the other person's reaction is going to be, I like to run through all the possible scenarios in my head. Of course, none of this applies when I've been drinking because at that point I will do or say pretty much anything without thinking much about the consequences. As I was wondering why I absolutely have to be prepared everything, why I have to be READY for anything that might be thrown my way, I missed my exit. The exit I take each and every morning. So much for being prepared for every situation.

I don't think I've slept an entire night through ever since I started sleeping with my windows open. And not because of the same reasons as when I lived in my old place, where I would always worry that I'd wake up to someone crawling through my bedroom window AND not in a romantic Romeo & Juliet (without the bloodshed) way but with nefarious intentions, like to ass rape me OR WORSE catnap Phoebe or funnap TiVo. Can you imagine? It gives me chills FOR REAL. Anyway, no, those are not the things waking me up. There are air conditioning units outside my window so almost every time they kick on, I wake up. Why these people have their AC on already, I have no idea. We had a couple days of hot hot hot weather and my roommate and I turned on our AC, but then it cooled off so we went back to open windows and fresh fresh air. I love having the windows open, except at 5 AM when the geese start honking or at night when the bullfrogs are out at the pond (real bullfrogs, though, not people having sex like last time) or when our downstairs neighbors leave for work and slam their freaking door as loud as possible. Still. I'll take slammy downstairs neighbors over my loud, upstairs, sex neighbors from my old place.

For a while, we debated whether or not to leave our balcony door open at night. Finally, we decided it was OK because, as I pointed out, if someone really wanted to get in they'd have to get a ladder or a really big trampoline and we'd probably hear the thud as they landed on the balcony. See. Totally prepared for that one.

blah, blah, blah, my name is Thursday and I hump dogs

I think it has become pretty obvious that I have absolutely no idea what to write in here anymore. I have blogger's block. I've thought about just NOT writing in this blog anymore and shutting it down, but the little voice in my head starts screaming, "No! I don't wanna! If you do it I'll hold my breath until I die, I swear I will!" My inside-my-head voice is four years old.

I'm eating pretzel sticks right now. When I was little, I used to eat them very quickly, in tiny, tiny bites and pretend I was a termite. That probably should have gone in my "weird things I did as a kid" entry, but I just remembered it. What kid pretends they're a termite? Good lord.

I feel like lately all I've been trying to do it get through each day, until I finally reach Friday and can enjoy myself. Work doesn't feel real. I play pretend all week long. I pretend to be nice, that yes, of course I want to be here, and no I don't mind that you're half an hour late for your appointment. Sometimes I forget that I have to be nice to everyone who comes into the office, because in my head I can't help thinking, "but I was just nice to the last person!"

And as I sit here thinking that I'm turning into a walking coma, I can't help but worry . . . is this it? Seriously? Force myself to sit still, smile until my face feels like it's going to crack down the middle, and make nice until I can go home and wait for the weekend in peace?

Don't mind me. I'm just feeling very blah lately and I wish I could figure out why so I could fix it. So far all I've come up with was to wear socks with monkeys on them today. WOW this post is stellar.

we're going streaking! through the quad and into the gymnasium! bring your green hat!

Yesterday morning, instead of sleeping until the last possible minute and then racing around like a crazy person to get ready, I got up early, made some coffee and actually ATE breakfast while walking around the apartment half-dressed. Don't worry, my roommate was already gone. It was nice. This morning? I hit my snooze button three times and whirling dervished through the apartment to get ready but I DID get to work on time AND I even stopped at the gas station to get ass raped, I mean gas.

Because of some unexpected car repairs last week, I sat down yesterday and made up a budget. Kind of. I mean, I wrote down all of my monthly payments, you know, things I kind of HAVE to pay, like rent, student loans, and my pimp. And as I looked at the amount of money I should be able to save every month, I had to wonder . . . where the hell does my money go? Then I looked in my checkbook and it all made sense. Target and alcohol, that sounds about right.

It's OK, because the next couple of weekends should be cheap, cheap, cheap. This weekend was. I spent the majority of it watching reruns of America's Next Top Model and plotting to run away forever with my roommate's TiVo. Oh. My. God. I'm a tiny bit obsessed. This is why I never got TiVo. Well, also they're expensive. I hope my roommate doesn't get pissed and move out because I kind of keep filling it with episodes of The Office, Late Night with Conan, and, ohmygodbestofall, The Daily Show. Ooooooh, how I missed The Daily Show. Also? I really like the little blee-bloop sounds TiVo makes. It sounds so happy to be fast-forwarding through commercials and asking me if I want to delete Three Hole Punch Jim or keep him forever.

Does it freak anyone else out that today is 6/6/6? I kind of wanted to call in sick and spend the day either locked in the closet or under my bed or, ok who am I kidding, sitting on the sofa spending my last moments on earth with TiVo.

It was NOT just a stage

Tamara gave me another excuse to put off doing anything productive, and for that I thank her. I've been trying to think of six weird things I did as a kid and honestly, it was harder than I thought it'd be. I either wasn't as weird as I thought I was (ha) or I've blocked out most of the weird things I did. And I didn't want to ask my parents because I was afraid that would bring up a topic of conversation that would NEVER DIE.

So here it is. My list of six weird things I did as a kid. I tried to leave off stuff like eating dog food and running away with a pack of gypsies because I figure everyone did things like that.

1) I thought I could fly if I just thought a happy enough thought. I'm not kidding. It wasn't just "oh, wouldn't it be cool if I could fly by doing that?" but "man, if I could just figure out what my happy thought is I could totally fly right now." Like it was completely possible to fly, I had just never found my happy thought. Yeah. This could have a lot to do with why I've never fully grown up.

2) My friend down the street had one of those Fischer-Price orange and yellow teeter totters. You know the ones I mean? The ones that are made out of flimsy plastic for like three-year-olds? Well, I think I was six or seven (old enough to know better), but I decided to stand on one end of the teeter totter and have my friend push down on the other end. I think I thought I would fly magnificently through the air, do some sort of flip, and then land gracefully on my feet. Either that, or I had given up on the happy thought thing and this was my next experiment in Human Flight.

3) When I was in kindergarten, one day I forgot to get off at my bus stop and ended up riding it all the way to the bus parking lot before the bus driver noticed that I was still there.

4) I don't know how old I was, but I was at my Aunt Brenda's house, trying to go to sleep and when I opened my eyes a BAT was sitting on my chest, staring at me. I screamed and it flew away and TO THIS DAY no one believes that it really was a bat and not my overactive imagination, which, OK, it probably was but I'm still scared of bats. Also pandas, because of a scary dream I had when I was little about pandas sneaking out from under my bed to steal my stuffed animals and they had long claws and red eyes. I don't know how they fit under my bed with all those Gremlins under there, but they managed.

5) I used to hide food all over my room because Claudia did it in the The Babysitter's Club books and books were where I got all my good ideas. This went on for a while, until my dad caught me eating Starburst one night.

6) This goes along quite well with Tamara's protesting of the Vietnam War, but when I was in elementary school I was a total mini-feminist. I went to daycare, and whenever we took a field trip we had to split up into three different vans. The two blue ones were pretty nice, with air conditioning and a radio that got more than one station, but there was also a white one that had no air conditioning, worn seats, and no seatbelts and actually now that I think about it NO ONE should probably have ever ridden in that van. Anyway, at this daycare, there were way more boys than girls. And the (male) teacher would inevitably say, "White van? Ok, all the girls, you're in that one," and each and every time I would bitch and moan and cry sexism until one day he let us ride in one of the nice vans. You know, it still kind of pisses me off TO THIS DAY. In 5th grade, I also railed against the injustice of my male gym teacher picking all boys to help him set up for gym class because THOSE BOYS GOT TO MISS PART OF THE CLASS BEFORE IT. I also got into an argument with my 3rd grade (male) teacher about whether men or women were stronger and I just keep picturing a little, pig-tailed me running my mouth to this guy and it makes me giggle, especially now that I'm old enough to realize he was probably gay (mom? dad? help me out here?) and he was also probably wondering what makes an 8-year-old, middle class, girl from the suburbs SO ANGRY.

Anyway, I don't know who to tag with this, so if you're bored, do it, because then I can read it when I'm bored. EVERYBODY WINS.

and now I'm writing about my cat; the transformation into Crazy Single Cat Lady is complete

Phoebe has this toy. It's this burgandy and white ball thing that someone knitted and donated to SICSA and when I adopted Phoebe last summer, the toy came with her. There is something about this toy that makes Phoebe CRAZY. Usually, the toy sits on the floor and she completely ignores it. Unless it's 4 AM. That's when I wake up to this godawful meowing that sounds like a baby being slowly strangled or shoved into a small cabinet or something. I try to ignore it, but finally I have to get out of bed, take the toy from her and put it somewhere she can't reach it, then I go back to bed and forget about it.

Which is why, this morning when I got dressed, I was really confused to find this mangled, knitted, frayed cat toy in my underwear drawer.