It's like that book I read in the 9th grade that said, "'tis a far far better thing doing stuff for other people."

Today when I got home from work, Phoebe scampered all around me and meowed really loud and then ran up and down the stairs a couple times and then did a few laps around the apartment and I thought it was because she was excited to see me, but it turns out she was just trying to work up a good twosie. She does this almost every day, usually waiting until I sit down to check my e mail to take a giant poo in her litter box (which is about five feet from my computer). You'd think I'd learn that the only time she is excited to see me is if her food dish is empty, but you'd be wrong.

Yesterday I got the Girl Scout cookies I'd completely forgotten I'd ordered. In the past two days I have eaten approximately 10.8 million thin mints. I have been sitting here for the past twenty minutes trying to work up the motivation to go to the gym WHILE EATING THIN MINTS. The fat girl inside of me is out of control. I briefly considered eating the rest of the Girl Scout cookies left in the apartment but didn't because A) I already feel like I'm going to throw up, B) I think they frown upon throwing up on the elliptical at the gym, and C) Heidi would kill me. You wanna know what else? America's Next Top Model is starting RIGHT NOW and I can't watch it because A) It's TiVoing, B) I hate watching commercials because TiVo has spoiled me forever, and C) Heidi would kill me. Because she's not home and I'm pretty sure if I went ahead and gorged myself on both Girl Scout cookies AND Miss Tyra AND Nigel Barker AND Mr. Jay without her? She would never forgive me.

Today on the way home from work I drove past some guy who was flossing while driving. That is something I've never seen before. For realsies. This entry sucks and I apologize. I'll try to think of some way to make it up to you. Any suggestions? Do you like thin mints*?

*TOO BAD YOU CAN'T HAVE THEM

Hello, Vegas? Yeah, we would like some more alcohol. And you know what else? We would like some more beers. Hello? Oh, I forgot to dial!

February has been a long, strange month. Not necessarily good or bad, just weird. It's OK. I like weird. I got a new job, other stuff happened, good times. Is it weird to say February was long? Because compared to other months . . . it's not. You know? Not TIME-WISE anyway. Yeah, I don't know what I'm babbling about either.

I got an invite to a bridal shower/bachelorette party yesterday. I'm pretty psyched. Not so much about the bridal shower because that will involve a lot of acting like a grown up, but I am all over the bachelorette party. You know, I have five friends who are engaged right now. That is a lot of weddings. Also, that is a lot of wedding dates. I should start recruiting now. Responsibilities for my wedding date include but are not limited to: dancing with me after I am drunk enough to want to dance, getting me drinks, making sure I miss the bouquet toss, picking me up after I fall down, and carrying my heels after I kick them off because I'm tired of falling down. Now that I look at that list, I'm not sure my friends really want me at their wedding. ALSO, if Jake Gyllenhaal or John Krasinski want to be my date(s), they don't have to do any of that stuff. They can just sit there and look pretty.

I also found out that my roommate from college had a baby. A BABY. A tiny lifeform that she is responsible for keeping alive! Scary. I just find it hard to wrap my brain around the fact that the girl who one night got drunk and wandered around the sorority house parking lot wearing one sandal and carrying a trashcan is now a mother. It's so strange that all these people around me are doing grown up things, like getting married and having babies and buying houses. It makes me think I should be doing these grown up things, but I don't really want a husband or a house or a baby. ESPECIALLY not a baby. I like spending my weekends riding mechanical bulls and sitting around in my pajamas watching The Hills (don't judge) and taking long road trips JUST BECAUSE. You can't do those things with a baby. Well, you can probably watch The Hills with a baby, but I don't think it would understand all the drama. I mean, I have a hard time keeping up with all the drama and, while I sometimes doubt my intelligence, I'm going to go out on a limb and say I am slightly smarter than a baby.

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

I feel really blah today. Can I go home and go back to bed? Please?

I want the house, Jan, I want the picket fence, I want the ketchup fights, and the tickling, and the giggling.

If you had told me that yesterday I would start out the day at work and end it by riding a mechanical bull (twice), I probably wouldn't have believed you. In fact, I'm still a little skeptical.

Good thing there are pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.

In other news, I love my friends.

Why is this so hard? That’s what she said. Oh my god. What am I saying?

I think my early week happy high is wearing off. I feel pretty blah today. I jumped through all the necessary hoops this week . . . I accepted the new job, turned in my letter, told my boss, and now I'm just waiting. I'm not good with the waiting. Instant gratification is really the only way to go. It's weird, though, on Monday I was in a GREAT mood and today I'm all blah. It's like Monday is Friday and Friday is Monday and WHAT KIND OF CRAZY WORMHOLE HAVE I FALLEN INTO?

Last night, Heidi and I accidentally drank a bottle of wine. I say accidentally, but it was pretty premeditated.

At dinner . . .

Me: Do we still have beer in the fridge at home?
Heidi: Yes.
Me: Good, because I need a drink. It was a loooong day.
Heidi: Yeah. Don't worry, we have a whole drawer full.
Me: It may take that much.
Heidi: We could get a bottle of wine.
Me: OK, let's do that.

Later . . .

Me: Whoa! Not much wine left in the bottle!
Heidi: That's why I used the big glasses.
Me: Well, if that's all that is left, we might as well just finish it.
Heidi: Exactly.

TO BE FAIR, yesterday was the day I told my boss I was quitting and then he spent twenty minutes trying to talk me out of it and throwing more money at me and telling me I was making the wrong decision blah blah blah. Also, last night Meredith Grey almost died. That occasion calls for wine (whether it is to cope with the grieving or for celebratory purposes, I'll leave up to you). Heidi told me I was cold-hearted because I said I didn't care if she died. FIRST OF ALL, everyone knows I am cold-hearted. My mom said the reason my favorite character on Grey's Anatomy is Christina is because we are both cold-hearted and emotionally stunted. Or something like that. It was a long time ago so I don't remember the exact words but I think that was the gist. Anyway, I wasn't that worried about Meredith dying because A) she is the main character so they weren't going to kill her off because when shows do that? They end up sucking. See: The X-Files, ER, The X-Files again, and . . . how many times did Mulder die? I have completely lost track of my point so let's move on, shall we? AND B) if they DID kill her off, I wouldn't have to listen to her gravelly-voiced whining anymore.

To be honest? I am much more worried about one Mr. Jim Halpert. I do believe Roy may try and mess up his pretty face and Jim Halpert is a lover, not a fighter. I hope he is also a fast runner.

I know it's just a TV show leave me alone!

so give me your hand and let's jump out the window la la la la la

YOU GUYS! Today is it SUNNY and over FORTY DEGREES OUTSIDE! DO YOU SEE HOW EXCITED I AM?! CAPS LOCK! MEANS! EXCITED!

Seriously, do you know how great it is to walk outside and it's not so cold that you want to cry, but you're afraid to cry because the tears might freeze to your face and even though it'd be kind of awesome to peel long strings of ice-tears off of your face, you think it might also hurt and leave a weird mark so you'd rather not? Did anyone follow that? No? Me neither.

Does anyone else think this whole blogging thing is weird sometimes? Like, today, I spent most of the day at work thinking of Friends quotes to put in my Gmail status box because, um, that's what all other cool kids were doing and when I say cool kids, I mean People of the Internets. Do you guys really exist? I mean, really? I know some of you do, because I went to college with you or I've hung out with you or, hello, I live with you. Or I've seen pictures of you and I'm assuming my brain isn't sophisticated to make all of that up. Or you've introduced me to your friends so I'm assuming if your friends aren't imaginary than you aren't either. But the rest of you . . . are you really there or figments of my imagination? I hope you're real and not just in my head, but if you are, at least you're entertaining. Is anyone following this? No? Me neither.

I got off work early today so I came home, put on my pajamas and started doing laundry. Who else is jealous of my super-exciting life? Don't everyone put your hands up at once. Later I plan on making a salad and chicken for dinner unless I completely lose all motivation and make peanut butter and jelly. Which, ok, does sound really freaking good right now. OK, NOW who is jealous of my super-exciting life and DON'T LIE. You have no idea what kinds of super-exciting things I do all day long except, oh wait, yes you do because I tell you everything. Well, almost everything. Some things I only tell Heidi. Like on Monday? This happened:

Me: Heidi, can I tell you something really gross?
Heidi: Sure.
Me: No, I mean, it is really, really gross.
Heidi: OK.
Me: OK . . .

And then I told her the grossest thing ever* and she barely blinked. I'm not sure what that means. Does anyone know where I'm going with this? No? Me neither.

So I've been listening to the same song over and over for the past three days. I don't know why. When I really like a song I prefer to listen to it all day and all night and if I can't listen to it then I like to have it stuck in my head so I can hum it when other people aren't listening. I can't stop myself. It's a sickness. This is what happens:

Brain: OH MY GOD are you listening to this again?
Me: Yes.
Brain: WHY?
Me: I like it.
Brain: OK. But this is like the 30th time today.
Me: Don't exaggerate.
Brain: I'm not. Actually, I'm being generous. It's probably more like the 70th time today.
Me: Now you're exaggerating.
Brain: Maybe.
Me: OK, just one more time.
Brain: NO!
Me: One more!
Brain: No more, please for the love of the little baby Jesus!
Me: Please?
Brain: OK, it is kind of growing on me.
Me: Ha!

Does anyone care where I'm going with this? No? Me neither.

*Seriously, it was disgusting . . . but funny. I laughed, anyway.

Rule #76: No excuses. Play like a champion!

Do you ever go through phases where you don't feel like the life you're living is your own? Or like you're really dreaming and any moment you're going to wake up and everything will come crashing down? Or that finally, FINALLY, pieces of your life seem to be falling into place and you're afraid to breathe too hard in case they drift away in the wind again? Is it possible to feel all of this at one time? Because that's how I've been feeling lately. Not that things are perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but when are things ever perfect? My major problem is waiting until things seem perfect to make any kind of change, which explains why I don't make changes that often. Because I plan EVERYTHING in my head, down to conversations that NOT ONLY haven't happened yet, but may never happen. Lately, I've decided to say "fuck that!" (exclamation point, very important) and do whatever the hell I want, planned or not, if I think it has even the slightest possibility of turning out well.

What I'm saying is I don't really feel like myself. I feel like a better version of myself. I'm going to turn in my resignation when my boss gets into the office this afternoon and I'm not nervous. At all. I test the butterflies every few minutes by thinking about handing him that letter and they've been quiet, unfluttering, since I got the phone call yesterday. Do you realize how strange it is for me not to be nervous about something? I get nauseous sometimes before making a phone call.

This is all leading me to believe that my body is getting ready to stage some kind of coup, and the moment I hand over my letter I will also throw up all over my boss. What an exit.

I felt like I could just fly, but nothing happened every time I tried.

I've had a lot of roommates over the years. OK, not that many, really. And aside from freshman year of college, I was friends with all of them. For some reason my freshman year roommate, the one who only went to Wittenberg because her boyfriend already did and who didn't sleep in our room after Thanksgiving and also who didn't move her textbooks from a towering pile on her desk all of second semester . . . she and I did not become great friends. Probably because one time I accidentally locked her out of our room when she was in the shower. Also, I was always in our room with one friend or another which meant she and her boyfriend had to have sex in his room and I don't know if you remember what the guys dorm floors smelled like, but it is a smell that TO THIS DAY haunts my dreams. Anyway. She and I? Not so much what you'd call close.

My current roommate, however? Freaking kicks ass. I don't want to make you jealous or anything, but when I got home on Sunday she had folded a load of my laundry that I'd left in the dryer all weekend. I have a habit of doing that. And last night she shared her wine with me and I think she even gave me the bigger glass. She is either really generous or was trying to get me drunk so she could take advantage of me. I'm leaning toward the former. I would say out of all of my roommates, Heidi and I get along the best. Which is saying a lot, I think, because all of my other roommates were when I was in college and while there is a lot of stress in college (like, say, choosing between writing a paper or going to the bar and THEN writing a paper), it's nothing to compare to the stress of choosing between paying rent and buying groceries. Not that we've ever had to do that. Yet, anyway.

And also? When I e-mailed her and told her I'd finally gotten the phone call I'd been waiting for, and that it was good news, her response was, "now, of course, we need to go shopping." Because we do. It is necessary. Because I can't keep borrowing Heidi's grown-up clothes. I mean, yeah, we're close, but we're not the Sweet Valley Twins. We don't even look alike.

As they say in my country . . . homina homina homina

For my third half-assed entry of the day . . . Conversations With My Roommate!

Heidi: The fat girl inside of me wants to eat everything in the fridge.
Me: Really? Cause the fat girl inside of me wanted to go to Penn Station earlier.
Heidi: Mmm.
Me: But we have leftover pasta.
Heidi: And salad.
Me: And we need to eat that before it goes bad.
Heidi: Right.
Me: Garlic bread, too. Which we also need to eat before it goes bad.
Heidi: Right.
Me: Right.
Heidi: Wanna have wine with dinner?
Me: Well, yeah, cause we need to drink it before it goes bad.

also . . .

Heidi: What are you listening to?
Me: The Shins.
Heidi: It's weird.
Me: You're weird!
Heidi: Your face is weird!
Me: I know!

I need to work on my comebacks, I think.

oh and also . . .

Me: Heidi! I'm drunk again!
Heidi: Me too, I think.
Me: We have got to stop getting accidentally drunk in the middle of the week.
Heidi: It isn't even the middle of the week yet.
Me: God. So. One more episode of How I Met Your Mother and then we get ready for the gym right?
Heidi: OK.
Me: That should be enough time . . .
Heidi: For the wine to wear off?
Me: Exactly.

Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here. That's all over the second we ride up Troy's bucket.

It's pretty sad that it's 42 degrees today and it seems so warm to me that I think it would be completely logical to strip off all my clothes and jump in the giant puddle outside our front door (born of all the melting snow). Not that I did this or would do this, but it did cross my mind that I wouldn't get frostbite and die if I DID. Or would I? Who knows.

I'm feeling very antsy today. I don't know why. I want to read something, but don't know what. I want to listen to some music, but can't figure out the perfect song. I'm hungry, but don't know what I'm craving. My mind is all over the place and I can't concentrate on something for more than five minutes. Or less. What's that about?

Well, the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more. Cause when life looks like easy street, there is danger at your door.

Right now I'm waiting on a phone call*. So, of course, I keep obsessively checking my cell phone to make sure I haven't missed it and that the ringer is turned up as loudly as it will go. I haven't missed it. And the ringer is turned up so loud that when and if it finally does ring, it will scare the shit out of me. I really should download a less jarring ring, but if I don't have a really loud and annoying ringtone then I never hear my phone when someone calls. And since I'm already really bad about answering my phone, downloading something like . . . I don't know . . . Bob Marley isn't going to work very well.

Anyway, this phone call is either going to be really good or a huge downer. I'm leaning toward really good but I'm trying not to lean too hard so when it turns out to be a huge downer I don't tumble over and hurt myself. It's hard not to get my hopes up, though. Things have been going fairly well for me recently and I'm of the opinion that when good things keep happening it only means something really shitty is coming along. Yes, I realize that's a really depressing outlook on life but Bridget Jones agrees with me and who am I to argue with my role model?

Who am I kidding? I pretend to be cynical and pessimistic but really on the inside I'm just a silly, naive optimist with blinders to the world and an overabundance of rose-colored glasses.

*I can't tell you what it's about, Internets. Not in such a public place, anyway. The walls . . . have ears. I will say, though, that I am not pregnant, planning to elope, going to go pitch-a-tent-on-the-front-lawn crazy and shave my head, or running away to a convent. Hell, I'm not even Catholic. And even if I were, I'm not sure they'd take me.

Whenever I’m about to do something, I think, “Would an idiot do that?” And if they would, I do not do that thing.

Today as I arrived at work and skidded my way through the parking lot that is still covered in sheets of ice, I wondered why we place ourselves in these giant, hulking, pieces of metal and hurtle down the road at speeds of sometimes 70 MILES AN HOUR. I think we must all really have a death wish. Cars are scary and also dangerous, especially with humans behind the wheel. Robots? Still dangerous, but not as much.

I keep thinking how much easier it would be if we all lived back in Little House on the Prairie times. We could just walk to work. Cause you'd only work like a mile away from your house. Or something. And sure . . . if I tried to walk to work on a day like today I'd probably lose a few fingers and possibly a couple toes. But maybe, if I was lucky, Pa would give me a ride in the wagon. Only wasn't it in a wagon accident that Mary went blind? I can't remember. Also, I think one of the other kids fell down a well. Carrie? I didn't like that girl anyway. OK, so I know that prairie times were hard. And now I have completely lost track of my point . . . if I even had one. Which, let's face it, is iffy. I like the word iffy. I don't know why. I'm going to start saying it more. You know what else I'd like to start saying? "Oh my godfathers." Again, I don't know why. But, like, if something shocking happened? Like someone at work fell down in the parking lot? I could be all, "oh my godfathers!" and place my hand over my heart like I was going to faint. I would also like to start saying things like, "he fancies you," or "where is the bloody lift?" OK, let me be honest here . . . what I would really like is to be British. Really British, though, not the fake British I pretend to be sometimes when I'm drunk*.

Alright, I'm cutting myself off from talking. Have a good weekend, Internets, I'll see you Monday.

*true story

In honor of International "That's What She Said" Day

Why yes, I am bored. Thank you for asking.

You've always left me satisfied and smiling.

I have very important and breaking news. I have just been informed that today is International "That's What She Said" Day.

Michael Scotts of the world? Rejoice.

I don't care what anyone says, I would totally take a midnight train to anywhere. As long as it was south of here.

I walked out of the apartment this morning and was unpleasantly surprised to find that all of the snow was still here. I was kind of hoping that by some miracle it would have all magically melted overnight. Unfortunately, the opposite happened. It just got colder and harder (heh). Actually, since we got so much freezing rain after we got all the snow, there's a really thick layer of ice over everything so, in most places, you can walk on top of the snow. Not only does it make me feel taller, it also kind of makes me feel like Jesus. You know? Cause he walked on water? Which is technically what I'm doing, only this water is frozen. Hey, maybe that's how Jesus did it!

Hell is nice this time of year, right?

Anyway, I know I told you guys all about how it took me 9 hours to unearth my car yesterday, but what I didn't tell you is that after I did all that work I couldn't even get my car out of the parking spot because there was a giant hump (heh) of snow and ice behind me. Also? Heidi and I do not own a shovel. I know. I KNOW! Luckily, my lovely mother was home from work yesterday and she let me borrow her car. And then after work my lovely father came over and helped me dig my car out. And when I say he helped me dig my car out, I mean he got my car out for me while I stood back watching with a not-so-bright look on my face.

Wow, this entry is boring. I really wish I'd stop talking about the stupid snow and the stupid ice and the stupid cold, too, but you know what? I'll stop talking about it when IT GOES AWAY FOREVER.

On a completely unrelated note, I just typed the words, "it's too cold to take my pants off outside," in an e-mail. I think that may be a first.

The end.

I don't care if Monday's blue, Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too, Thursday I don't care about you, it's Friday, I'm in love*

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone, if you're into that sort of thing. I forgot about it until this morning, when I saw the long-ago purchased, recently-forgotten The Office Valentine's Day Cards sitting on my desk. I gave out three of them in a moment of drunken motivation (the best kind of motivation, you know) but that was weeks ago. Far too early, if you ask me.

Remember how yesterday I decided to let that stupid groundhog live? Well, his days are numbered. I have to go back to work today. Granted, not until this afternoon because every business or school in this area is on, like, a five hour delay or closed. Because here is what happened. We got a shitload of snow. And then we had freezing rain all day yesterday. So, earlier this morning I went out to clean off my car. Which WOULD have been really easy if it had just been snow, but unfortunately the seven inches of snow were encased in a two inch layer of ice, so I had to break the ice into little pieces before I could scoop it off of my car. At one point, I broke off a big shard that was in the exact shape of Ohio. I wish I'd taken a picture because I know you think I'm lying BUT I'M NOT WHY DON'T YOU BELIEVE ME? Faux-hio fell on the ground and was still intact and I thought about how I had just spent the past 30 minutes beating snow and ice into submission and as I stood there getting angrier and angrier I did what any normal person would do . . . I used my handy ice scraper and smacked the shit out of Faux-hio and then stomped on all the little pieces and then I kicked all the even-littler pieces until they flew every which way and then I went inside and took several deep breaths until I felt better.

Happy Valentine's Day!

*obligatory V-Day love song lyric . . . how original

Well, let’s hit up Yahoo Maps to find the dopest route. I prefer Mapquest. That's a good one, too. Google maps is the best, true that DOUBLE TRUE.

I was all set to get pissed with Punxsutawney Phil and threaten to kill him and punch him in the babymaker and roast him in our fireplace, but he's getting a slight reprieve because I did not have to risk life and limb by trying to make it into work this morning. That's right, friends, I got a snow day. SNOW. DAY. And while as a tiny child I would have immediately run out into the frigid cold snow to build a snowman or snowangel or some other snownonsense, today I plan on spending the day in my pjs, alternating between napping on the couch watching TiVo and napping in my bed "reading" a book. Funny story (not really), I have seven library books and countless books I have purchased that I have not yet read (although I did finally finish Lolita), said library books are rapidly approaching their due date and I have decided to read Bridget Jones's Diary for the 18th time. I have a problem but at least I am not afraid to admit it.

Last night, Heidi and I got stuck in some strange wormhole at the gym and didn't end up getting home until 10:30. PM! Then we spent a good 30 minutes mapquesting different destinations. It's more fun than it sounds. It's kind of like traveling without having to pack or put shoes on or find a rest stop that doesn't look like a scene out of a horror movie when you have to pee so bad you're afraid your bladder is going to explode out of your stomach (or wherever) and you'll never make it to your destination and if you do you'll have urine and pieces of bladder all over you. I'm sorry for that image. ANYWAY. I should tell you . . . this is the longest, most pointless Conversation With My Roommate in the history of Conversations With My Roommate. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Me: Do you know how far away Knoxville is?
Heidi: Not really. I think it's near Nashville.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: Let's Mapquest it!
Me: OK!
Heidi: 4 hours, 51 minutes, that's not bad.
Me: Let's see how far Nashville is.
Heidi: OK.
Me: 5 hours, 19 minutes.
Heidi: So basically a difference of half an hour.
Me: I thought they were farther away from each other than that.
Heidi: Me too. Ooh, I know, Mapquest how far it is from Nashville to Knoxville.
Me: Oh. 2 hours, 47 minutes.
Heidi: OK, then.
Me: Let's see how far Boston is!
Heidi: OK.
Me: 13 hours, 26 minutes.
Heidi: Damn. What about Atlantic City? I bet it's far.
Me: 9 hours, 52 minutes . . . what about New Orleans?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: 13 hours, 7 minutes.
Heidi: Washington DC?
Me: I've never been there.
Heidi: It's fun.
Me: 7 hours, 57 minutes.
Heidi: How about the North Pole?
Me: I think we might have a little trouble driving there.
Heidi: OK. How about Juneau, Alaska?
Me: HAHAHA.
Heidi: No, seriously.
Me: Why can't Mapquest find it?
Heidi: Because Alaska's state code is AK, not AL.
Me: Oh man. Don't tell anyone I did that.
Heidi: OK.
Me: It's good to know there's not a Juneau, Alabama, though.
Heidi: Truly.
Me: HA! It takes 63 hours!
Heidi: Let's leave now!
Me: It'd be a beautiful drive.
Heidi: We'd get to go through Canada.
Me: Ooh, speaking of Canada . . .
Heidi: Windsor?
Me: Heck yes!
Heidi: Yessssss!
Me: Holy shit, it's only 3 and a half hours!
Heidi: Let's go!
Me: Yeah, you can drink there when you're 19!
Heidi: Um.
Me: And I know I'm well over age 19 but still . . . it's the principle
Heidi: True. Ooh, Mapquest San Juan, Mexico.
Me: OK. Wait, there's no code for Mexico.
Heidi: Try MX.
Me: Um. It only has codes for Canada, not Mexico.
Heidi: Racists.
Me: Wait, isn't San Juan in Puerto Rico?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: I think this is veering into Conversations With My Roommate territory.
Heidi: I think you're right.
Me: Geez.
Heidi: Ooh! Mapquest Honolulu, Hawaii.
Me: Um, once again, I think we might have a problem driving there.
Heidi: Just try it, I wanna see what it says!
Me: OK. It says, "We are having trouble finding a route for your locations. Please try modifying the information you entered."
Heidi: Damn, I was hoping it would say something like, "Please vacate your car and start swimming."
Me: Why don't they just build a bridge from Hawaii to the mainland?
Heidi: Yeah! It would help with their tourism.
Me: And if anyone needs help with tourism, it's Hawaii.

If you made it all the way through that, I hope you learned something. Other than how bad at geography Heidi and I are.

You’re a real-life wedding crasher, and I must bounce you. I’m sorry, it gives me no pleasure.

DISCLAIMER: This entry drops the F bomb all over the place. Please protect your virgin ears if you are into that sort of thing. Everyone else, all the F bombs are toward the end. Fuck. Except that one. That's the thing about the F bomb. It drops when you least expect it.

Phoebe gives me really weird looks when I sing, OK yell, Journey lyrics at her. Whatever, CAT, you spent the entire morning staring at the sun reflections on the ceiling! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME. And seriously? Anyone who doesn't like Journey can just get the hell out of my apartment RIGHT NOW. That is a new rule. Everyone must sing a Journey lyric before they enter the apartment. Heidi, I hope you're OK with this. I mean, I spend the majority of my life with a Journey song stuck in my head so I'm just trying to pass along the joy.

So, you know how I was complaining about having to work yesterday? I realize it's difficult to keep track of all the things I complain about, but try and keep up. Right, so, I was complaining about having to go to work but really? On the Saturdays that I have to get up early and go into work, I am so much more productive than I am on normal Saturdays. For instance, yesterday after work I got gas, checked my oil, got a hair cut, dyed my hair, went to the gym, balanced my checkbook, cooked dinner (although "cooked" might be stretching it since I mostly used the microwave), and . . . OK, that's it. But last Saturday? When I didn't have to work? I worked out. That is the only productive thing I did. There was that whole prime rib incident, too, but I'm not sure that counts.

There are these two weight machines at the gym . . . I have no idea what they're really called, but Heidi and I call them the slut machines. Because, see, they both involve spreading your legs as wide as humanly possible. The first night we tried to do them in shorts and I will never, ever do that again because there are some things I do not want strangers to know and that includes the color of my underwear. So now I make sure I do those machines first, while I still have my pants on. LET ME ELABORATE, when I do take my pants off at the gym, I always ALWAYS have shorts on underneath them. I do not walk around the gym pantsless because I think they frown upon that. Anyway, the slut machines are my favorite ones in the whole gym so I'm not sure what that says about me.

Did I tell you that you can watch movies while you work out? Well, you can. There's even a sheet at the desk where you can request movies. Only there's a little note that says "no nudity," so I guess I can't request, I don't know, Wedding Crashers. Who wouldn't like to watch Wedding Crashers while they work out? Sure, it might be dangerous because I could start laughing really hard and slide off the treadmill but that is a risk I'm willing to take. But we can't watch it because there are boobies in it. And if we have learned anything from Janet Jackson, it is that boobies are scary and should remain hidden at all times, especially during sporting events. I don't even remember where I was going with this. Let's pretend that what I'm saying makes sense, though, OK? OK. So, we can't watch movies with boobies or hoohas in it, but apparently profanity and violence are totally fine. Yesterday they were showing Courage Under Fire, which alternated between Denzel Washington in an army uniform (mmm) interviewing hot soldiers in uniform (Matt Damon, for instance) and battle scenes that went something like this:

Soldier 1: Woe is me! They are fucking shooting at us!
Meg Ryan: I would suggest that you fucking shoot back!
Soldier 2: Ma'am, with all fucking due respect, I cannot seem to hit those motherfuckers with this fucking gun.
Meg Ryan: Blow up their fucking tank!
Soldier 1: Ma'am, I do not have any fucking ammo left with which to blow up any fucking tanks. I fear we may all fucking perish.
Meg Ryan: I would be much obliged if you would shut the fuck up and obtain some fucking flares.
Soldier 2: Fucking flares, ma'am?
Meg Ryan: I do believe that is what I fucking said. Fucking flares will be ideal for blowing up their fucking tank and saving our fucking lives.
Soldier 1: Yes, ma'am.
Soldier 2: I don't mean to be a nuisance, but I have just been shot in the fucking jugular.
Soldier 1: Fuck. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck fuck.
Meg Ryan: Fuck.
Me: Bring back Denzel!
Gym Attendant: Ma'am, please don't yell at the screen.
Me: Don't fucking call me ma'am.

Anyway, so my point is I think we should be allowed to watch Wedding Crashers.

Conversation With My Roommate: Fatty McGee Edition

Last night

Me: Would you judge me if I had a piece of cake right now?
Heidi: No.
Me: Good, cause I'm having one.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I need something sweet.
Heidi: OK, I'm having some cake, too.

Later

Me: I'm going to throw up.
Heidi: So, here's what we had to eat tonight . . .
Me: Don't remind me.
Heidi: French fries . . . cheesy brauts . . . a pickle
Me: Uhhhhhh
Heidi: Cheese dip and tortilla chips.
Me: Stop.
Heidi: And cake.
Me: You know, if I wasn't on my period right now I'd be worried I was pregnant.
Heidi: Me too.
Me: I think we fell off the wagon and it rolled over us a few times.
Heidi: Yeah, well, I think it's parked on top of me.

Tonight, on the phone

Me: I'm going to Kroger later, do we need anything?
Heidi: Why are you going to Kroger?
Me: To buy pizza for dinner.
Heidi: Yum!
Me: I've decided to fall off the wagon again tonight.
Heidi: OK. Can you pick up some chicken breasts on your way off? Meijer didn't have any.
Me: Sure. Oh, and I'm also not going to the gym tonight.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Cause I'm not gonna get home til 7:30, and I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and I have to work tomorrow so I am throwing a tantrum!
Heidi: Sounds good.
Me: What are you and Nick doing tonight?
Heidi: Well, tomorrow night would you rather go bowling or go to a comedy club?
Me: Duh, comedy club.
Heidi: OK, then I'll try to talk Nick into bowling tonight.
Me: Awesome.
Heidi: Indeed.
Me: Tell Nick that [name redacted] and [name redacted] say hi.
Heidi: Oh, are they with you?
Me: Oh, yeah, I invited them over later for a threesome.
Heidi: Nice. You are covering a lot of ground there.
Me: It's true. And I think Nick would want to know.
Heidi: Hey, you're just doing your part to support the troops.
Me: If only more Americans were like me.
Heidi: Exactly.

Can you believe I have to work tomorrow? On Saturday! Seriously!

I said BRR, it's cold in here! There must be some Toros in the atmosphere!

It's cold outside. And it snowed. It took me twice as long to get home Tuesday night because of all the snow. Going 20 on the highway? Not as fun as you might think. I hate you, February, SO MUCH.

So, last weekend Heidi and I tried to make a grown-up dinner. On Saturday, we decided that instead of going out to eat like we normally do on Saturdays (and Fridays and Sundays and sometimes Thursdays), we'd cook the prime rib she'd gotten (free) from work. I wasn't exactly sure what a prime rib was . . . I mean, yeah, I knew it was meat of some sort but that was only because it was thawing all big-hulking-meat style in our sink. It didn't really look that appetizing but the picture on the packaging looked pretty delicious. Luckily, there were also directions on the package so we didn't think we could mess things up TOO much. This coming from the people who couldn't use their oven for three months because the knob was on upside-down.

Heidi: It says to cook it in a roasting pan.
Me: Do we have one of those?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Um.
Heidi: Um.
Me: Oh, wait! Is this a roasting pan?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: We don't have a meat thermometer, either.
Me: We could buy one.
Heidi: Do you think your parents have one?
Me: Oh yeah! I'll see if we can borrow theirs.
Heidi: Maybe we can ask them if this is a roasting pan, too.
Me: OK. I'll take a picture of it with my phone!
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know. I am all kinds of special.

We ventured over to visit my parents. After showering, though. Because when I told my mom that Heidi and I had worked out Friday night and not showered after and then worked out again Saturday morning and then cleaned the apartment, she said we weren't allowed to come over unless we de-smelled ourselves. Normally I'd be offended but, to be honest, I did smell really, really bad. Anyway. My mom gave us the meat thermometer and also a roasting pan because it turns out the pan I had taken a picture of? Not so much a roasting pan as it was a broiling pan. Yeah.

FINALLY we made it back to our apartment so we could start the prime rib and also make fun of Heidi's boyfriend, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching Spongebob Squarepants. Once that was taken care of, we went to the grocery to buy such important staples as salad, garlic bread, and beer. We got back to our apartment and sat around for a while until it was time to start the baked potatoes and salad. Heidi handled the baked potatoes because that involved the microwave, and the fewer chances I have to break an appliance, the better. Then we checked the prime rib. It still wasn't done. No matter where we stuck the thermometer. OK. No problem! we said. We'd start with our salads like civilized human beings. Only the prime rib still wasn't done when we finished our salads. It wasn't even close to being done. So we turned up the temperature. Half an hour later, it still wasn't done and we were getting so hungry that when we looked at each other, we did not see human friends, we saw human-size steaks covered in delicious delicious steak sauce. Actually, I think Steve did take a bite out of Nick's arm. Don't deny it, Steve! Since it was almost 9 (!), Heidi and I made an executive decision. We were going to replace our main dish of prime rib with, wait for it . . . cheesy brauts, which are really just hot dogs all dressed up. So. Our fancy, grown-up dinner consisted of salad, baked potatoes, and hot dogs (we forgot to make the garlic bread). Which, I'll admit, is kind of lame, but it's still better than serving omelette, blue soup, and marmalade*.

And also? The prime rib, that finally finished cooking around 11, after we'd given up on learning how to play poker but before we made the terrible decision to watch SNL? Was DELICIOUS. Especially after what we had for dessert . . . which was several servings of Miller Lite. Don't judge.

*Yeah. Probably four of you got that. Sorry.

Herbert* the Penguin: An Introduction

Let me tell you, nothing perks up a Monday like getting a penguin in the mail**. Especially one that does not require an all-fish diet or frigid, arctic temperatures (although I could totally supply that right now) and, most important of all, will not poo on the floor.

Plus, he has already tamed the wild beast who DOES poo on the floor***.

*Don't call him "Herbie." He hates that. I already tried it and he didn't talk to me for two hours.

**Thanks, Kat!

***That's not really fair, she's never pooed on the floor . . . PUKED on the floor, now, that is another matter entirely.

the girl with kaleidoscope eyes

You might want to stay away from me today. I am an anger ball. A tiny, hateful, twisted mass of vitriol ready to spring and cut you with evil, spiteful words and I don't think you want that.

I didn't sleep well last night, POSSIBLY from the combination of food (or food-type substances) I gorged myself with during the Super Bowl. I spent most of the night tossing and turning and during the bit I didn't spend tossing and turning I had the weirdest dreams I have ever had in the history of my life and no I will not be sharing them because some of them were borderline inappropriate and some of them? Not even borderline. And then, AND THEN, I spent the majority of this morning driving around the country looking for our new office. I was only lost for about half an hour of that time, though, but it was a scary half hour because I was almost out of gas so I kept picturing myself practically freezing to death on the side of the road until I was rescued by the male version of Kathy Bates who would take me back to his/her cabin in the dark, secluded woods and make me write him/her a novel and then smash my feet with a sledgehammer when I tried to escape and now I can't remember how it ends. I think Kathy Bates gets what's coming to her but I can't recall and I don't feel like looking it up. So there. Anyway, I did not freeze to death and I did find a gas station and I also found our new office even though I was half an hour late.

The brightest part of my day? I heard Sweet Caroline on the radio but it was at the office so I couldn't sing along like I normally do. Yes, I know how incredibly sad it is that that was the brightest part of my day but that is just the kind of day it's been. I am one frigid-cold morning away from flying south for the winter. Who wants to let me build a nest in their front yard? Or back yard, really. I'm not picky. It doesn't even have to be that warm. I'd settle for 50. OK, 35 even.

if you build it, he will come*

Is it wrong that I'm cheering for the Bears tonight just because I like that skit from SNL? Also, I think everyone else I'm watching the game with is cheering for the Colts, so I feel bad that the Bears will be all alone. In our living room, anyway. Also. I really like going to Chicago and I feel I need to pay back the city in some way for all the shenanigans we pull when we're there.

And in other news . . . is it wrong that I'm more excited for the Puppy Bowl than the actual Super Bowl? No? OK, good.

*Sorry. I like baseball more than football

Oh, and also THIS:

Don't pretend you didn't sing along. You liar.

D-d-d-danger!

Here you go, Kat, I think you did have the words right. Also? I heart Youtube SO. MUCH.

I wanna quit the gym!

Earlier this week, Heidi and I joined a gym. Because it's cold outside and half-assedly doing a 20 minute Pilates DVD four times a week just wasn't having the results we were hoping for. Go figure. It's the same gym my dad and uncle go to at 5 in the morning, but I doubt we'll ever run into them. Who works out at 5 AM? Crazy people, that's who. Anyway, so nine months after moving into our apartment, we discovered that residents of our apartment complex get a discount at a nearby gym. A significant discount. The guy who sold us our membership also pretended we were sisters and gave us a family discount. And waived the usual 1.5 million dollar registration fee. It is so cheap, you guys! So cheap! Which is good, because after we pay for cable, the Internets, and our Target addiction, we don't have a lot of money to just throw around all willy-nilly like Donald Trump, who probably not only lights his cigars with hundred dollar bills, but wipes his butt with them and ALSO has a giant room in his house full of monies and goes swimming in ginormous piles of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck.

The whole registration process was a long one, full of tedious paperwork, and the guy helping us (I'll call him Seth . . . because that was his name) told us he used to live on Wittenberg's campus AT THE SAME TIME Heidi and I went there. I asked if he was familiar with McMurray's (aka That Bar We Went To Every Other Night) and he said he used to be a bouncer there. So I'm actually surprised he didn't recognize us. I kind of wanted to be like, "Oh, hey, we were those girls who monopolized the karaoke machine!" or "You know all those missing bar signs from the walls? We took those!" or "Sorry if you ever had to yell at us at 2:30 in the morning because we wouldn't leave the bar" but I didn't say any of those things because he hadn't given us our membership yet and I didn't want to be banned from the gym before I had a chance to try out the Cardio Cinema. That's right, Cardio Cinema. You can watch movies while you work out. And sure, last night the movie was Rocky (I don't know which number as this was the first piece of a Rocky film I have ever seen) but flashy lights and loud noises make the time go faster regardless of what movie is producing them.

And now I bring you . . . Conversations With My Roommate: Gym Edition.

In the car

Me: I hope someone warned the gym we were coming.
Heidi: I know, we're probably going to say something inappropriate.
Me: Yes, LOUDLY inappropriate.
Heidi: Like vas deferens.
Me: Or cervix.
Heidi: Ew.
Me: Some words should not ever be said.
Heidi: I agree.
Me: Like panties.
Heidi: I hate that word.
Me: Also? Moist.
Heidi: Oh, yes! That word is banished!
Me: Also those words should never be put together. Because . . . moist panties? Ew.
Heidi: Oh god.
Me: Seriously, should we have called ahead to warn them we were on our way?

On the way to the locker room

Heidi: So . . . they spelled your name wrong.
Me: I know. Both of them!
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: At what point do you think I should tell them my name is not Jenny Baylar?
Heidi: Um.
Me: Probably before now?
Heidi: Probably.

In the cross-training room

Me: I wish sports wasn't on the TV.
Heidi: Didn't that guy say we could change the channel?
Me: Score!
Heidi: Can you reach it?
Me: YES . . . ok, maybe.
Heidi: What are you putting it on?
Me: Duh, The Office.
Heidi: What is Ben Franklin doing on The Office?
Me: I don't know, but it is all kinds of awesome.

Me [whispering]: Can I tell you something?
Heidi: Yes.
Me: I am uncomfortable with how much working-out-noises sound like sex noises.
Heidi: Haha, me too.
Me: Seriously, do you hear that guy over there?
Heidi: Unfortunately.

ALSO. We were privy to a conversation between two men on the other end of the room and DURING THIS CONVERSATION one of them, after saying that he'd had to change five beds at the hospital that day, said these magical words, "I peed in my bed! I puked in my bed! I pooped in my bed! I peed the bed again!" Have you ever heard anything so beautiful? Also, it's hard not to hurt yourself on a piece of gym equipment when you're laughing not only hysterically but also trying to be quiet about it.

Well, what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today.

So, according to the groundhog, we're going to have an early spring. Someone obviously didn't get the memo because it has been snowing here all day. I would like to kick that furry, little rat's ass right about now.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu. Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu.

So today I had to do something that made me very, very nervous. I can't say what it was, though. All I'll say is that I had to borrow some grown-up clothes from Heidi (thanks, Heidi!) and even though the pants were a little long and I thought my boobs might burst through the top button on her blazer, I think I looked pretty damn good. Not anymore, though. Now I am wearing pajama pants, a t-shirt, and a hooded sweatshirt (not red, though). HOT.

Anyway, when I have to do something that makes me very, very nervous, I have a very, very nerdy way of conquering the tiny butterflies playing racquetball in my stomach. Not only do I chant "What Would Elizabeth Bennet Do?" under my breath (not really . . . ok, maybe a little), but I always, ALWAYS have a specific song from The Sound of Music running through my head. You know? That one she sings about having confidence in confidence alone and she runs through the city swinging her guitar case in such a way that you just KNOW there is no guitar inside or it would have ripped her arm out of socket. Anyway. That is the song that runs through my head when I'm nervous. I didn't choose it. It's just there. I guess when you spend your formative years with Julie Andrews, something is gonna stick.

I am ALMOST ashamed that I shared that. Almost, I said.

As of right now I still have jury duty. Heh, duty. I'm supposed to call after 7 tonight to see if anything has changed and I'm hoping when I call they'll say, "Dear Jennie, please don't worry about dragging your tired ass out into the cold tomorrow morning. Stay at home. Sleep in. Lounge in your pjs." Not that it'd matter if they told me they didn't need me anymore. I'd just have to go to work, but at least work has the Internets. Although, at jury duty I might be able to finish the book I'm reading. Hmm. Quite a dilemma. Don't you feel sorry for me? Oh! Question! How long does jury duty last? Am I going to be down there all day? Like til 5? Because I have better things to do (see above: sleeping, lounging, Internets).

I have exciting news. You know how I decided to grow my hair long again? No? Well, I decided to grow my hair long again and today . . . this magical day . . . I realized that with the help of two tiny barrettes and a very small amount of hairspray I can put my hair IN A PONYTAIL. OH. HAPPY. DAY. I hope this amazing development is a sign of other good things to come if you know what I'm saying and I think you DON'T because I can't tell you. Do you see what I did there? Like it? No? Oh. OK.