How to Have a Practically Perfect Friday Night, by Heidi and Jennie

Go to Fazoli's for dinner, where you will be served penis breadsticks:

Run to Target to return a pair of pants. After returning pants, wander the aisles and lose an hour. Heidi tries to convince you to buy some army sheets and after telling her to "oh shut up already," pose for photos:

Go home to write How To articles about coconuts while Heidi goes to the mall. Read blogs instead of working:

Procrastinate by changing sheets:

Replace old, boring sheets with SUPER FUN PIRATE SHEETS (bought at Target instead of army sheets . . . I mean seriously):Booty! Surrender it now!
Pirates! Arg! Don't be jealous, you can get these at Target, too:

Finish the evening by learning how to be really, really ridiculously good-looking:Oh and also spend way too much time taking pictures and posting them on your stupid blog.

Seriously, who WOULDN'T want to hang out with me? ALSO, someone just played Ring of Fire on their Perfect 10, making this a perfect Friday night. Or something. I don't know. Whatever.

If you really wanted to screw me up, you should've gotten to me earlier.

This morning I spent . . . um, way too long trying to get 94.9 (THE SOUND) on the radio in my office. I WOULD just listen to it online, but I can't because my company blocks anything fun (like, say, if you go to Youtube and search for "unicorn planet" . . . trust me). The reason I wanted, nay, NEEDED, to listen to 94.9 is because they're playing Perfect 10's all day. Which basically means people submit their 10 favorite songs and then they play them. That was pretty self-explanatory, I guess. Please don't think I think you're all so stupid that you don't know what a Perfect 10 is BECAUSE I DON'T.

The reason I love when they play Perfect 10's is because every so often, someone else's Perfect 10 will so closely resemble my own (you know, should I ever actually sit down and compile one) that I just know if we met we'd be BFF. I know that's probably not true, I just like to say BFF. This one time? I was in the car listening to some guy's Perfect 10 and every time a new song came on I would say, "HEY! I love this song!" especially when he played "Blister in the Sun" because, um, I love that song. And I thought to myself, "Jennie (for that is my name) . . . if he plays Death Cab for Cutie or something by The Shins, I believe he might be your soulmate," and I almost called the radio station to try and talk them into giving me the guy's phone number when the next song that came on was this one.

I love listening to Perfect 10's because it's like listening to someone's favorite mix-tape. I love mix-tapes. Although now I believe they are called "iPods." Whatever. Also, it makes me think of High Fidelity, a movie I absolutely hated when I first saw it (I was all of . . . I don't know, 18?) but when I watched it (and read it) again recently I was all "18-year-old Jennie was stupid," which . . . duh. At the end of the movie, Rob makes a mix-tape for Laura, something no one has ever done for me. If some guy ever made me a mix-tape even half as perfect as my Perfect 10, then I might be tempted to have his babies. Probably not, though. Probably I'd be so freaked out that someone knew me so well they could make something even remotely close to my Perfect 10, I'd never talk to him again. Because I'm a tiny bit fucked up. Maybe more than a tiny bit. I once told a guy that I think everyone is at least a tiny bit fucked up, and it wasn't until he started to disagree with me that I realized I actually believed what I'd said. Point proven, as far as I'm concerned.

also this

oh SNAP

I don't now how many hours of my childhood were spent watching this show . . . but it was a lot.

You think you're too cool for school, but I've got a newsflash for you, Walter Cronkite . . . you aren't.

A long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away . . . sorry, I can't help it), I used to be smart. Like book smart, I mean. I was in most of the gifted classes. Even math, which I hated with the fire of a thousand suns. I'm not sure what happened to my book smarts, but I think they started to dissipate once it became legal for me to drink. Anyway, even though I was book smart, that doesn't mean I had anything resembling common sense. In fact, whenever I would do something lacking in common sense (like this one time when I spilled an entire pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen floor and tried to mop it up with the rug, which I think I blamed on my sister, or this other time when I stood on the end of a teeter-totter and had my friend push down on the other end because I thought it would make me fly or this other time, OK, I'm stopping) one of my parents would exasperatedly say some variation of, "Jennie! I do not understand how you can be so smart and HAVE NO COMMON SENSE."

I always thought that the older I got, the more common sense would come seeping into my brain. I'm not sure how I thought that would happen. I think you're either born with common sense or you're not and I'm afraid neither of my parents passed any of theirs down to me. Tonight, as I do most nights since I have nothing better to do, I went to the gym. When I got home after the elliptical made me its bitch, I started to gather all my crap from my car to take into the apartment when I realized OH NO I didn't have my gym membership card! I remember placing it on the elliptical before I started and I THOUGHT I'd grabbed it when I was done, but I couldn't really remember because I was trying to get out of the Cardio Cinema before everyone died in The Perfect Storm. That movie's depressing, is what I'm saying. But OBVIOUSLY I hadn't grabbed it because it wasn't in my car. So, instead of, I don't know, checking underneath the passenger seat (where I'd thrown all my other gym crap) I drove all the way back to the gym. I bothered the girl on the elliptical I'd been on and asked if a card was on it. No. I checked the locker room. Nope, not there. I retraced my steps through the parking lot to make sure I hadn't dropped it on my way to the car. No luck. I drove home, wondering if I should call the gym in the morning to see if anyone had found it. Before I went into the apartment, I decided to check my car again to see if my card had fallen on the floor and lo and behold there it was, lying between the passenger seat and the door. I mean, I'm glad I found it and all, but I kind of wish it had really been lost. What kind of moron drives all the way back to the gym instead of checking the entire car in the first place? This moron, that's who.

Also, I am going to prove the universe wrong soon. You think I am off topic, but I will prove you wrong just like the universe so SUCK ON THAT. Um, OK. So you know how we live next to that fancy, outdoor mall? Well, we live next to a fancy, outdoor mall. And Heidi told me that Mandy Moore is going to perform there FOR FREE next month and ALSO they are going to hold a contest and whoever wins get to watch License to Wed (also starring John Krasinski) with Mandy Moore. Whoo freaking hoo. I mean, I don't dislike Mandy Moore, but that is irrelevant. I quite like her, actually, if only for that scene in Saved! where she throws the Bible at someone and shouts, "I am FILLED with Christ's love!" Awesome. MY POINT IS, Heidi and I are planning on winning this contest because I'M SURE Mandy (I can call her Mandy because after we meet she's obviously going to want to be my friend because . . . hello, check it out, I'm awesome) has John Krasinski's cell phone number. And I'll be all, "Mandy, can you give it to me?" and she'll go, "I don't know, Jennie, he might get mad at me for giving out his number to random girls," and I'll say, "But MANDY, you don't understand . . . I just want to talk to him about how awesome I think The Office is," and she'll be like, "Oh, OK, in that case, here it is," and then I will take it and call John Krasinski and tell him I want to have his babies and then we'll get married and live happily ever after in the Italian villa he'll buy next door to George Clooney and I will be smarter than the universe. It's foolproof, really. I have so got this common sense thing covered.

Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.

Sometimes I think my favorite part about eating apples is ripping the stems off beforehand. I'm not sure who told me this, but a long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away . . . just kidding, it was in Ohio) someone told me that you recite the alphabet with each twist of the stem and whatever letter the stem comes off at is the first letter of the last name of the person you're going to marry. Either I am exceptionally strong or the apples I'm eating have really weak stems, but I never can make it past "D." I guess the universe is trying to tell me I'll never marry Jake Gyllenhaal or John Krasinski, but I'm really hoping the universe is wrong.

I can Dere-lick my own balls, thank you very much.

I'm eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich right now. Don't be jealous. I think the peanut butter and jelly sandwich might be the most perfect sandwich in the history of sandwiches. I would eat one for every meal if I didn't think I'd start to suffer from some sort of nutrition deficiency. When I was little, I didn't even bother with jelly. Just peanut butter and lots of it. Like, so much that when I took a bite of the sandwich I couldn't really open my mouth much until I gulped down half a glass of milk. Mmm, PB&J and milk. Man, I wish I had some milk right now.

This morning at work, in the span of five minutes I was called both "young lady," and "little lady," by different people. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I've been called worse, that's for sure, but I can't help but think "little lady" is unnecessary. Other ways I have been greeted at work? "Hey, girl," a salute, and "here comes trouble."

So I didn't really sleep last night. I'm not sure why. It could be all the caffeine I mainlined yesterday in order to stay awake at work. Or it could be that my body has just given up and succumbed to my brain's will to stay awake as long as possible. You win, brain. THIS TIME. But wait til Saturday when I will kill parts of you with alcohol. THEN we will see who is the one with the willpower! Or at least the vodka.

Even though I didn't really sleep last night, I still got out of bed late. Of course. Also? I found out that I don't have time to shave my legs when I get up that late. I'm not sure why I felt the need to shave my legs this morning. I thought about wearing a skirt because I really need to do laundry and skirts are practically all that I have left. But then I remembered I have a giant bruise on my shin from Friday night. I'm not sure how it got there, but it is big and all sorts of interesting colors. I'm used to finding random bruises all over my body. Not because Heidi beats me or anything, but because I have a tendency to run into walls and trip over shoes or Phoebe or air. True story.

You know what else is facing five Goliaths? America -- Al-Qaeda. Global warming. Sex predators. Mercury poisoning. So do we just give up?

Man, that last post was all kinds of whiny, wasn't it? And I didn't even tell you the best part of the trip! When I say best part, I may be exaggerating a tiny bit because . . . it was more traumatizing than good but I WILL NEVER FORGET IT.

So there we are, driving along the highway, minding our own business, when OUT OF NOWHERE something thumps along the windshield. Then TO OUR HORROR we looked at the passenger side windshield and there was a bug the size of Cincinnati stuck in the windshield wiper. It was ginormous. We named it Bob. He stayed with us almost all the way through Indiana, until we stopped at a gas station and I peeled it off with a paper towel and screeched like, well, a girl.

a fist, a hand, hoocha hoocha hoocha . . . lobster

I could tell you I've never been this tired in my life, but I'd probably be lying. In fact, I'm so tired that I can't remember if I've ever been this tired in my life. So that's a problem. A tiny problem, I'll admit, but a problem.

Oh, Internets. It was sort of a disastrous weekend. I feel like I spent most of it in my car stuck in traffic because of the fucking tolls in Chicago. The traffic was so bad that even though I left the city for Barrington (where? yeah, I don't know either) an hour and a half early, I was two minutes late for the ceremony. And when I got there, they told me that since the ceremony had already started I couldn't go in. I thought about going all Jon Secada and pounding on a window and screaming until they let me in, but I couldn't see any windows overlooking the ceremony so instead I went out to my car and cried. I mean, yeah, it's not very productive but I felt better afterward. The reception was fun, although I couldn't dance very well because I think the dress I borrowed from Heidi was just a tiny bit too small and I was afraid one of my boobs would fall out and nothing ruins a reception faster than some guest who didn't even make it to the ceremony having a wardrobe malfunction. True story. After the ceremony, I changed my clothes in my car but it was OK because almost everyone was gone and it was really dark and now that I think about it maybe it's not a good idea to change your clothes in a dark, secluded parking lot if you're a woman and alone and in a strange town. Oh well. On the way home, this will surprise you, I got really lost in Chicago but it wasn't my fault because Mapquest gave me the wrong directions. Fucking Mapquest. When I finally got back to Mary's, I found the last parking spot in the $5 parking lot and gave her doorman my sob story about the traffic and the wedding and the getting lost and he let me into Mary's apartment. I guess I don't look very threatening (little does he know). Oh and I also accidentally ran through a toll without paying on the way to the wedding. Oops.

There were other small disasters. Not as disastrous as, I don't know, missing the wedding, but still. At dinner Friday night, there was a tiny mishap with a full margarita and I ended up wearing it. As I sat there, staring at the sticky mess in my lap, I wondered if I should just give up and go home but NO I went into the bathroom (thankfully it was a one person bathroom and not one with a bunch of stalls) and took off my shirt and pants and dried them under the hand dryer. And that is how I ended up half naked in a restaurant bathroom in Chicago. DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE. Anyway, I spent the rest of the night somewhat sticky and smelling of strawberries.

Also?

Mary: Boyfriend's Friend is hitting on you.
Me: No, he's not.
Erica: Yes, he is.
Me: No, he's not.
Mary: Um, OK.
Me: He has a girlfriend.
Mary: Yeah, he cheats on her a lot.
Me: OH MY GOD! I AM SO SICK OF BOYS! SERIOUSLY! I'm done.
Mary: Please stop yelling.

Then later in the car I yelled some more about something I can't remember. Don't worry, this wasn't angry yelling or anything. It's just that when I drink, my volume goes up to 11 (that's high) and everything I say sounds like angry yelling or at least regular yelling but it's really not.

Yesterday it took us approximately 97 hours to get out of the city and I finally made it home a little after 10. And even though I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep last night. What IS that? I love sleeping! Why doesn't my brain? Sleep is SO GOOD. My brain doesn't even know. Stupid brain, who needs it?

I don't want it to seem like it was a terrible weekend. I had fun. It's just that, you know, shitty things happened. It's OK, though, because yesterday was officially the end of my wedding season. Until October. Sigh.

everything zen

So you know how I was all bent out of shape (read: whining like a little baby) about how I was missing The Office marathon tonight? Well, it turns out, the gym has ellipticals and treadmills with TVs on them. I was sitting here trying to talk myself into working out anyway and the fact that I could watch Jim Halpert while doing so gave me the motivation to put on my shoes and head to the gym. I feel much better now. Thank you, John Krasinski. For so many things, really.

PS: So I'm leaving for Chicago at 10 tomorrow. I'm all packed. Mostly. If by packed you mean I pulled a bunch of clothes out of my closet that are now lying in a heap on my dresser. In that case, I'm totally ready to go RIGHT NOW.

Dear Time Warner, jump up your own ass and die. Love, Jennie

You guys, I have a favor. I must ask you to boycott Time Warner Cable, if you have that ability. You see, I cannot boycott Time Warner Cable because they are the only cable company in the area. Which must be the reason their customer service, excuse my language, sucks giant, hairy donkey balls. Seriously. Go Google "Time Warner sucks" and you will come up with all sort of stories from people who have been screwed (and not in a good way) by Time Warner. I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM.

About a month ago, Heidi and I came home to discover that our cable was out. NOT GOOD. Especially because we were missing How I Met Your Mother . . . the one where Barney goes on The Price is Right. Can you believe that shit? Me either. Bob Fucking Barker. When I called Time Warner, Christopher (if that IS his real name) told me that it had been disconnected because of nonpayment. "No," I said. "I am looking at the bill right now and we don't owe anything."

"Oh," he replied. "Can you hold please?"

So I held. And held. And held some more. When he came back on the line he told me that our cable should not have been disconnected (duh) and a technician would hook it up the next day. He ALSO told me no one needed to be home for this to happen because they had just disconnected it at the pole. OK. When I got home the next day, I was pleasantly surprised to find the cable working. However, there were two messages on the answering machine from Time Warner Customer Service saying I'd missed my appointment and needed to reschedule. I ignored both messages because, um, clearly I hadn't missed my appointment. The cable was back on. Problem solved.

Until today. DUN DUN DUN! I came home for lunch and noticed a Time Warner Cable van in the parking lot. I didn't think anything of it until I heard a bunch of noises outside my bedroom window, where the cable is hooked up. I turned on the TV and noticed that HEY our cable wasn't working! OH NO HE DIDN'T. I grabbed our latest bill and ran outside. He was already back in his van and so I knocked on the window all rude and "EXCUSE ME" until he got out.

"Did you just disconnect our cable?" I asked. He nodded. "WHY?" I growled. He messed around with his papers and told me it was because we hadn't paid our bill, which is when I started yelling and waving the bill in his face and told him the story I told you guys only not so nice. He called his supervisor, who said I needed to go to the Time Warner Cable office and show them my ID.

"WHY?" I asked again.

He said something about a credit check for the reinstallation, at which point I tried to explain that they were never supposed to disconnect our cable in the first place, at which point he stared at me and said nothing, at which point I said, "this is fucking ridiculous," and slammed the door in his face. On my way back to work I called customer service and they told me the same thing. I needed to show my picture ID at the Time Warner office. But THIS LADY couldn't even tell me why. Whatever, I thought, I'll just go down there and fix this, no big deal.

All afternoon long I worked myself up into an angrier anger ball than I already was. I got to the place ten minutes before they closed (whew) and when I explained my story to the lady at the counter, she just kept shaking her head and saying, "they shouldn't have done that." Well, NO SHIT, lady, that's why I'm here! She ran a credit check, looked at my ID and verified that I am, in fact, Jennifer Lynn Lastname and not some crazy impostor, and said someone would be out to reconnect my cable.

"And I won't be charged for anything?" I asked. She shook her head. I got her name. If they try and charge me extra money or fail to reconnect everything by tomorrow, Penny's going down.

I would love to get rid of Time Warner. I could live without cable (Heidi?) . . . I mean, I wouldn't like it (no Jon Stewart?) but I've lived without before and it was fine. Anyway, I'm super pissed right now because NBC is airing a marathon of The Office tonight HOSTED BY STEVE CARELL. Although, we have the episodes they're running either on DVD or TiVo anyway, so I got over that pretty quickly. BUT. John Krasinski is on Conan O'Brien tonight AND I'M GOING TO MISS IT. And they are my two favorite Bostonians!

Seriously, I don't know (heh) what I'd do without YouTube.

PS: Sorry for being so complainy. I realize that, in the grand scheme of things, this a small, tiny, insignificant problem. But if I were going to get and stay this mad about the grand scheme of things, I'd never get anything done.

I fought the law and the law won

I hope the title of this post did not confuse you. I'd hate to think you came into this post wondering if I (finally) got arrested or ran over a cop (or a bunch of soldiers, although I HAVE almost done both . . . key word: almost). I didn't get arrested or run over anyone. Sorry. You wanna hear something weird, though? Why am I asking you that? Of course you want to hear something weird! This morning I woke up half an hour before my alarm was set to go off. I hate that. I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns. And then I couldn't go back to sleep, but rather than get out of bed and maybe be early to work for once in my life, I just flopped around trying to sleep for thirty more beautiful minutes. INSTEAD of falling to sleep, however? I got this song stuck in my head. But not the whole song because I don't KNOW the whole song and probably haven't heard it in 57 years. It was more like "I fought the law and the law won . . . I fought the law and the law won . . . I fought the law and the law won" over and over until finally I just started singing it out loud. Why fight it?

Here is the weird part. Are you ready? My alarm went off, I rolled out of bed and walked over to turn on my radio. Because I like to listen to music when I get ready. Loud music. Right, Heidi? Right. Anyway, what song do I hear screaming out of my radio? "I FOUGHT THE LAW AND THE LAW WON," and I was all, "where have I heard that song recently?" and then I was like, "oh yeah, in my head . . . wtf?" It was a very weird start to the morning. I actually pinched myself to make sure I was really awake.

So, apparently I'm psychic. If only my powers could be utilized for something more useful than predicting a song on the radio.

Speaking of songs. I was listening to that new Fergie song on the way to work (don't you judge me). You know the one I mean? The "Big Girls Don't Cry" one? OK, so we call my friend Mary's roommate "Big Girl" even though he is neither big nor a girl. Discuss. Anyway, I'm listening to the song and the phrase "Big Girl" makes me laugh anyway because of Mary's roommate and Fergie got to the line "It's time to be a big girl nooooooow!" and I completely lost it. I was in my car, all alone, laughing so hard I was crying. I don't know what the people in the cars around me were thinking. I don't really care. However, I think it might be time to start sleeping. Weird things are going on in my brain and I'm blaming the insomnia. WHAT, IT TOTALLY DESERVES IT!

someday you will find me caught beneath the landslide

Oh, you guys. You guys. I don't know if I'm going to make it to next week. I am still not fully recovered from last weekend, what with the marriage and the drinking and the no sleeping and the Taylor Hicks sighting. This weekend is gearing up to be even crazier. There is another wedding (!!!) on Saturday in Chicago and so I took Friday off (!!!) to drive down (up? over? over and up?) early. I'm staying with my friend Mary. You know what happens when I stay with my friend Mary? So. Many. Things. I never know what to expect because somehow we seem to end up in the strangest places, like Lake Michigan at 4 AM. I say this as if we have no control over where we end up, but if you'd ever had a margarita from this place then you'd know that we DON'T.

SIDENOTE: My Favorite Radio Station Ever is playing Ring of Fire (um, AWESOME) right now and I had to get up and do a little jig. I wish you could have seen it. No. No, I don't. AND NOW they are playing Wonderwall (um, here . . . sure, why not). I want to marry this radio station.

Back to the story. MY POINT IS, I'm not sure if I'll make it back from Chicago. I may need someone to come bail me out of jail. Or help me fish my purse out of Lake Michigan. YOU NEVER KNOW. Maybe I'll meet the man of my dreams at Whitney's wedding and run away to Vegas and get married (HAHAHA!) or, more likely, maybe I will get horribly lost again in underground Chicago and it may take me several weeks to unlose myself.

I'm so tired today. Again, I never fully recovered from last weekend's wedding and I really could have used a sleep-in day on Monday BUT NO I had to get up and go to work. And yet, I haven't used the exhaustion-factor as an excuse not to go to the gym. So weird. Here's the thing, I'm actually starting to look forward to going to the gym because it is like free time for my brain. Normally, my brain is busy working out scenarios, holding imaginary conversations with real people, and freaking out about said scenarios and conversations. When I'm on the elliptical/treadmill/etc, however, I am so focused on how much time I have left because I feel like I'm about to fall onto the floor in a heap where I will then curl into the fetal position until my legs are no longer made out of rubber. Or I'm thinking, "Come on, self! You've almost burned 200 calories! If you keep up this pace, you'll burn at least 500 by the end! WHY ARE YOU SLOWING DOWN, YOU LAZY BITCH! I SAID GO FASTER! STOP STARING AT THE TIME LEFT AND WATCH THE MOVIE! I'M NOT GOING TO QUIT YELLING UNTIL YOU DO WHAT I SAY!"

Ahem. Anyway, there have been some pretty good movies lately at the gym. They gave up (I hope) on weepy, sad-sack movies like Stepmom and The Green Mile and are moving toward more action movies. The other night, they were showing Red Eye and I was SO EXCITED because I have crushes on both Cillian Murphy (even when he's evil) AND Rachel McAdams (especially when she's evil). And last night? They were showing Armageddon . . . which, OK, is a flaming pile of crap but it's still entertaining. Also, Ben Affleck! When I walked into the gym last night I had no idea how long I was going to work out. Then I saw that Armageddon was on and figured that could keep me entertained for a while (see above: Ben Affleck) and decided to do the elliptical for an hour. Because apparently my life is so boring and pathetic that I have nothing better to do than work out. Wah wah wah! Let's all have a pity party for Jennie! Poor Jennie! Don't you just want to buy her cookies? Anyway, an hour on the elliptical was probably unnecessary, especially since they had just painted the entire building or something (?) and the paint fumes were making me kind of lightheaded. More than usual, I mean.

When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn't lifting himself up, he's pushing the Earth down.

Sometimes when I'm bored, I run different scenarios in my head. These scenarios can vary from who I might run into on the way to the vending machine at work to what might happen if terrorists or ninjas or pirates stormed the building and I happened to be in the copy room. If I was in the copy room, the chances are great that I could sneak out the window and run down the street OR I could ask myself, "what would Chuck Norris do?" and the answer to that is KICK ASS. True story? Right there I almost wrote "kiss ass" instead of "kick ass." Not sure what that means. Anyway. The scenarios are hardly ever about something that might possibly happen, but they keep me entertained. Kind of like I'm watching a movie in my head, starring me and sometimes people I know and often Jake Gyllenhaal.

Yesterday, my dad was telling me how he'd seen something on TV about a zombie convention in New York where people dress up as zombies (OK?) and we decided if I'd been there I probably would have run away screaming about how I'd TOLD everyone the zombies would one day attack and I'd probably end up getting arrested for starting a riot or stabbing a faux-zombie in the head with an ice pick or something. I'm not sure why I have an ice pick in this scenario. Sometimes things show up in scenarios that you're not expecting and you just have to go with it.

Never walk away from a fellow crasher wearing a funny jacket! Rule #115!

Dear Internets, I am very sleepy today. Sort of cranky, too. This whole wedding business is a tiring one. FIRST OF ALL, I had to get up early ON A SATURDAY in order to make it to Cleveland by the wedding. I felt kind of bad, because I spent an hour of the trip on a phone conference for this writing thing I'm starting (Did I tell you about that? I don't remember . . . anyway, thanks for helping me get started, Katie!) and it was the most boring phone conference in the history of phone conferences. For serious. Instead of taking notes, I drew a picture. If you're lucky, maybe I'll post it sometime. Probably not, though.

So, we got to the Hyatt with barely enough time to change into our fancy clothes and then we got lost on the way to the church and snuck in just in time. Seriously, like, the mother of the bride was being escorted down the aisle as we sat down. Oops. It was a very traditional Lutheran service and I was doing so good at, well, being good and not giggling or making inappropriate comments until Mary leaned over and whispered, "Do you see that guy in the blue shirt?" I nodded. "He looks like Taylor Hicks," she said and this is when I almost exploded from trying not to laugh out loud. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. And it was made even harder when Nancy leaned in and said, "What are you guys laughing about? Taylor Hicks?" We did not get struck by lightning, so that's a relief. I also did not get struck by lightning for saying I wasn't going to participate in communion because I "wasn't in the mood." Also, I didn't want to walk down the aisle in my heels with everyone looking because I was afraid I'd fall on my face, possibly shouting expletives on my way down. Speaking of heels, Kat, thank you for suggesting those thingies (technical term) you put in the shoe that makes them not slide off. AMAZING. You're a lifesaver.

The reception was back at the hotel and they fed us lots of good food and we had champagne and took pictures and BEST OF ALL there was no bouquet toss, so I didn't have to hide in the bathroom at all. After the reception there was an after party at the hotel bar. ALSO, there was an open bar ALL. NIGHT. LONG. Which surprised me, because the bride knows just how much her friends can drink. At some point, I remember talking to Nadia's boyfriend about the differences between Catholics and Lutherans (Lutherans = Catholic Lite) and all about Martin Luther and the 95 Theses, like . . . wtf? Who does that? This kid, that's who. Then one of my friends explained to us all what the four stages of sexual frustration are, but now I can't remember what she said. All I remember is laughing so hard I thought I might die. I didn't, though, which is good because otherwise I would have missed all the dancing. That's right! I danced! That hardly ever happens, but you heard the part about the open bar, right? That explains everything.

The after party lasted until the early hours of the morning, and if the timestamps on the text messages I sent are correct, I was still roaming about the hotel around 4 AM. Which is why, at 9 that morning, I was not very happy to be awake and having to move and talk to people and whatnot. But it's OK. I curled up in the backseat of the car right outside Cleveland and slept until Springfield. That is almost three hours, in case you were wondering. Don't pretend you weren't.

I guess other stuff probably happened at the wedding, too. Like, um, OH . . . Mary, Nancy and I were given the important job of putting the party favors (little boxes filled with M&M's and tied with a ribbon) on the tables at the reception. I was doing SO GOOD at not being clumsy but then I dropped one of the little boxes and spilled M&M's all over the floor. Oops. This is why I should not be allowed to fancy functions. Also, according to one of the text messages I sent around 4 AM, I am apparently done with boys. So, either I decided to become a lesbian (unlikely) or I planned on joining a convent. Although, after my Catholic Lite comment, I'm not sure they'll have me.

Did you hear that? That was my mind blowing.

YOU GUYS. So I have that wedding today? So I had to get up early and shave my legs and finish packing and all? AND not ONLY am I on time, I am actually EARLY so now I have time to kill which is why, Internets, I am blogging right now instead of . . . I don't know, running around the apartment in my bra and underwear looking for tissue paper to wrap the present because IT'S ALREADY WRAPPED, BITCHES.

Anyway. Last night, my parents stopped by and totally interrupted my packing (read: my sitting around, watching The Daily Show and drinking wine time) and I wish I had recorded my mom because she was in rare form. All I remember is something about how cats have tight asses. OH, and apparently my dad was offended that I didn't acknowledge that he commented on an earlier entry. SORRY, DAD! Try not to be so sensitive, you girl. Hee. Kidding! I love you!

OK, I'm off to wedding time. I'm going to try my best to hide in the bathroom during both the bouquet toss and any chicken dancing that may occur. Wish me luck.

It's Friday, I'm in love

Wanna know who I'm in love with? FRIDAY. I want to have Friday's babies and then hire a nanny to take care of Friday's babies so Friday and I can jet off to the Bahamas or Europe or wherever it is rich people go. Because you know Friday's loaded. He has a private jet. And an island. So I guess that's where we'll be going. I suppose the babies and the nanny can come, too. But I think the nanny is trying to steal Friday away from me. That slut. What she doesn't know is that I am not above kicking her in the babymaker SO HARD. True story.

Inexplicably, I am in a SPECTACULAR mood today. Well, I guess it's not inexplicable since it's Friday and all. That's pretty damn explicable. Also, I had a really good dream last night and I've found that not only do bad dreams stick with me all the livelong day, SO DO GOOD DREAMS. I guess that's my brains way of balancing out the crazy. Or something. I don't know what I'm talking about, is it obvious?

Funny story. Apparently I won a free makeover from Mary Kay. I guess I had entered some contest at the gym and I won. I vaguely remember entering it. I tend to enter any contest I come across just for the hell of it because I figure one of these days I'll win a million dollars or a car or something. It's bound to happen. So yeah. Free makeover. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to it. The lady used the words "pamper yourself" a lot and I'm not really sure what that entails.

I think Phoebe has an eating disorder. Whenever I walk into the kitchen, if she's at her bowl eating she immediately runs out of the room. Like she doesn't want anyone to see her eating. Also, sometimes she eats really fast and then vomits all over the floor. I think one day they'll make a Lifetime movie of her life. Kitty Bulimia: The Silent Killer, If By Silent You Mean Except For the Ungodly Retching Noise She Makes When She Vomits.

So. Wedding tomorrow. I still have not gotten the gift. Oops. HOWEVER, I do have my dress and shoes and purse and really isn't it more important that I take care of myself first? Does she want me showing up to her wedding in a garbage bag and Crocs? I don't have Crocs, don't worry. I also don't know what time we're leaving tomorrow, whether we're going to the hotel or the church first, or if I should get dressed before we leave Dayton or wait until we get to Cleveland. Details. Who said being prepared was important? Not me. Things have a way of working themselves out if I just ignore the problem long enough. HAHA. Again, no idea what I'm talking about.

OK, so I may have a tiny problem. I am wearing these really cute Steve Madden heels to the wedding tomorrow and I've worn them before and the left shoe has a tendency to slip off my heel sometimes when I'm walking. Also, there will be alcohol at this wedding. You see how this may be a problem. What can I do to fix this, Internets, besides wearing another pair of shoes? That is not an option. Don't suggest it or I'll yell at you. I'm a good yeller, too.

Also, will someone remind me to pack my camera tonight? Thanks in advance.

Can I tell you a funny story? You will laugh, if you are anything like me. I laughed for like twenty minutes. Hey! Why not make this a Conversation With My Roommate? Why NOT, I ask you? Let's live a little! Life on the edge, that's the stuff. I swear I have not been smoking anything. I SWEAR.

Heidi: So Nick called me at work earlier . . .
Me: He's on vacation with his family, right?
Heidi: Yes. And he told me something really funny.
Me: Oh yeah?
Heidi: Apparently, his little cousin was in the bathroom for a really long time and when they went in there they noticed that he'd pooped on the floor.
Me: HAHAHAHAHA!
Heidi: Wait, there's more.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Heidi: Not only did he poop on the floor, but he covered it with toilet paper.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

I'm not going to lie to you, Internets, I'm still laughing. Also! Look what was on Overheard in New York the next day:

Mom: Are you okay in there, sweetie?
Little girl in stall: I can't button my pants.
Mom: It's alright. Just come on out.
Little girl in stall: And I pooped on the floor.

HAHAHAHAHA!

Dear Self,

Grow up.

Love,
Jennie

Project Craigslist

So a couple of weeks ago, inspired by past Craigslist adventures, way too much time on our hands, and, well, wine, Heidi and I started a new project. Um, basically we posted some fake ads on Craigslist and laughed and laughed at the responses. We're going to make this a regular thing. To make sure you enjoy it as much as we did, you should probably have a couple of glasses of wine before you read it. And now I bring you! PROJECT CRAIGSLIST!

Here is the first post. Peruse at your leisure. Let me know if the layout is confusing and I might get around to fixing it in the next couple of months.

You better lock it up.

So you guys know how I'm going to a million weddings this summer, right? OK, that is a lie. A giant one. It just FEELS like a million weddings because they are right in a row. And it seems like the last two months have been completely devoted to THE ALMIGHTY WEDDING SEASON.

Finally, after all the partying and preparation, the weddings, they are upon us. I have one this weekend in Cleveland and one next weekend in Chicago. You know, I was worried about telling The Internets when and where the weddings are, because what if someone stalks me? But Cleveland and Chicago are pretty large so if someone wants to track down each and every wedding in the city on those weekends, more power to them. If they find me I will bow down to their stalking skills and then I will throw my shoe at them and run away and call the police. And anyway. I could be totally lying. The weddings could be anywhere. Knoxville and Nashville. Buffalo and Boston. Portland and Poughkeepsie. They're not in any of those places, though. OR ARE THEY?

They're not. I still haven't bought a gift for either wedding. I am wedding gifted out. Seriously. I can't buy any more wedding-related stuff or I think my head might explode. I went to Target earlier and stood in the wedding card aisle for a good fifteen minutes trying to find a card that did not make me want to vomit all over the place. I did not have much luck. They had two "funny" wedding cards but they still had a vomit rating of 112. And that is a pretty high vomit rating, in case you weren't aware.

Watching my friends plan all these weddings is exhausting, so I can't imagine having to plan one myself, what with the dress and the cake and the flowers and the bitchy bridesmaids. It makes me really, really grateful that my parents are not only OK with me wanting to elope, they are actively encouraging it.

blah

Is how I feel today. Tell me a story, Internets.

POISON!

I don't care what kind of craptastic mood I am in, I can't NOT be happy when I watch this. Try it. Please?

I don't need a nicotine patch. I smoke cigarettes.

Last night, I was sitting around watching Friends (season 3 disc one, home of my favorite episode, like, EVER . . . Look at me. I'm Chandler. Could I BE wearing any more clothes?) um, anyway. So I was sitting around watching Friends and thinking I should do something productive. But instead of doing that, I played Super Mario Brothers for a while. Not very long though because I SUCK SO HARD at it. Seriously. I'm terrible. And I get mad and throw the controller down and pout, only no one was home to see my world-class pouting last night so it was pointless. After I got angry because I used up my four lives within like five minutes (I am not exaggerating), I decided to do something really productive and clean.

It started with just cleaning my bathroom. I don't want to gross you out or anything, but it had been a really, really long time since I cleaned my bathroom. It's not my fault, though! I never feel like cleaning when I get home from work so I usually wait until the weekend. But the past couple of weekends have been so incredibly busy (or, you know, I was too hungover to be around cleaning products for fear of passing out and hitting my head on the edge of the bathtub and bleeding to death in my dirty, dirty hole of a bathroom) and I DIDN'T HAVE TIME. Also, I just really hate cleaning the bathroom.

Cleaning the bathroom led to changing Phoebe's litter box which led to vacuuming my room which led to changing my sheets which led to dusting the living room which led to vacuuming the living room which led to taking out all the trash which led to washing my hands because . . . ew, which led to Febrezing the entire apartment. Mmm. I also went through my drawers (heh) and picked out some t-shirts and pajama pants to get rid of. Because I don't think I need pajama pants that I've had as long as my high school diploma. True story.

By the time I was finished Monica Gellering everything, it was time to go to bed. And when I say go to bed, I mean lie in bed and stare at the ceiling (or Futuruma) until I sigh, give up, and get up and check my e-mail. I have trouble sleeping most nights, but Sunday nights are the worst. What with the sleeping til noon and all. I'll have to admit, though, it was really nice to get up this morning and not trip over the five pairs of shoes I normally have littering the floor around my bed. I only tripped over Phoebe. And that's normal. Because she hates me and is trying to kill me. Evil whore. Oh god, I think she heard me. You guys, I'm scared.

To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal, light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle

I used to have all the words to Ice Ice Baby memorized. True story. Now I only know like every few lines. Because drinking kills brain cells! Brain cells you NEED. Like the ones that house the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby. Also the ones that know your phone number, the difference between their, there, and they're, and what a hypotenuse is. Don't drink, kids!

Are there ever moments in your life where a song is playing in the background and you stop and think, "if I were in a movie right now, this song would be the perfect soundtrack for this moment." No? Just me? Awesome.

Friends, I have a problem. OK, I have lots of problems but let's focus on one thing at a time, shall we? For some reason, my early morning brain thinks I can hit the snooze button fifteen times and still have time to get ready. Snooze Button Jennie is stupid. So very stupid. I cannot complete my morning routine in 20 minutes. I just can't. It takes me the entire length of this CD to get ready, minus one song. I usually skip number 10, because I'm depressed enough in the morning and if I listen to that song, the chances are great that I will crawl back under the covers and mope my way back to sleep.

No matter what I do, I hit snooze at least twice. I tried setting my alarm earlier so if I did hit snooze, I'd still be getting up on time, but that didn't work because Snooze Button Jennie was not fooled! She just hit snooze more times. I also set my clock five minutes fast. Which only serves to freak me out in the middle of getting ready because I think I'm later than I actually am.

I wish I were one of those people who don't even need an alarm. They have some sort of crazy internal clock that tells that it's time to get up and, oh, also to smile and be really happy and annoying until someone like me punches them in the face. I've never been one to get out of bed until I absolutely had to. When I was younger and lived at home, my dad had this bullshit rule (I'm sorry, Dad, but it was) that I had to be up by 10 on the weekends. Which, OK, is not early by any means but I was a growing teenager and I needed my sleep! One morning, I wouldn't get out of bed. My dad opened the door and let the 80 pound dog come in and jump on my head. I pulled the covers over my face. He ripped the covers off the bed. I burrowed my face under the pillow. He took my pillow away. I shoved my face into the mattress. He turned on my clock radio to one radio station and my CD player to another. I covered my ears. He turned on the light and my TV. And I STILL refused to get up, even though I was wide awake. I was trying to prove a point. I don't know what it was. But while my dad wasted all that electricity, I'm sure I got an extra two seconds of sleep and sometimes that makes a real difference, you know?

What gets out hummus, what gets out hummus?

You guys! I totally fixed my remote! I am the smartest woman alive! Don't be jealous.

That is all.

she didn't smoke it, did she?

Hee.

First of all, that was not a non sequitur. A non sequitur would have been: we've lost 3400 troops in Iraq, do you consider a unicycle furniture?

This was like the BEST. WEEK. EVER. For The Daily Show, anyway. I mean, OK, yeah . . . I don't remember who the guests were on Monday and Wednesday. Wednesday's guest was some dude who wrote a book that actually sounded sort of interesting. But I can't remember the name of it. Oh well. ANYWAY. Tuesday's guest was Paul Rudd and Thursday's (which I just watched) was Eddie Izzard. If Paul Rudd is the perfect man then Eddie Izzard is the perfect . . . um, executive transvestite. Is he still an executive transvestite? Every time I see him on a talk show he's just wearing a suit or something. And not even a woman's suit! Has he given up the running, jumping, climbing trees? I have just one more question: cake or death?

I got up early this morning. Well, earlier than I normally do on a Saturday. Probably because I went to bed really early last night because . . . um, I'm a loser? Seriously, I was in bed reading at 11:00. Also? I somehow broke the remote to the TV in my bedroom. OK, see, here's the thing. This remote is some kind of crazy universal remote that doesn't even go to this TV. The real remote broke and I have no idea where it is. So the other night I accidentally pushed a button I'd never pushed before and this lady's voice screeched out of the remote all, "SAY. A WORD." It was so weird. At first I thought I was going crazy because, um, I was hearing voices, but Heidi said she heard it, too. That is how loud the lady is! Heidi could hear her from the OTHER ROOM. Anyway, so now none of the buttons on the remote are working and I don't know how to fix it. Suggestions?

OK, and also? I seem to have really bad luck with electrical appliances. I've broken two coffee makers, at least three computer monitors, a CD player, a printer, at my old job they had to replace my computer twice, and freshman year I bought numerous remotes for my TV. I had to buy a new one because I lost the original one but I think what really happened was my roommate accidentally threw it away or something. I kept buying new remotes and THEY KEPT BREAKING. I swear, I am not doing anything to these appliances to make them just STOP working. I like to think that it's not my ineptitude with all things electrical, it's that I have some untapped superpower that I don't know how to control yet. That, you know, only affects electrical appliances. You just wait, one day I will totally be one of the X-Men. I can't wait to hang out with Hugh Jackman. Score!

Last night, Heidi and I were good and went to the gym and so what did we have for dinner afterward? Taco Bell. My stomach still hurts. The only reason we got it was because a) we did not feel like cooking and b) it's super cheap. AND NOW. I BRING YOU. Conversations With My Roommate: Taco Bell Edition.

Me: Sometimes I can't believe how I will go out in public.
Heidi: Me either. I mean, look at us.
Me: Seriously. But, have you seen some of the other people in this city?
Heidi: I know.
Me: So. Classy.
Heidi: It's true.
Me: Like the ladies in front of us?
Heidi: Hahahaha. I like how they have a pipe on top of their van.
Me: Haha, yeah.
Heidi: They're all, "we're going to check out some plumbing later."
Me: Ha, yeah, and then they're going to check out each other's plumbing!
Heidi: Wow.

Heidi: I made friends with the Taco Bell order taker guy.
Me: I know. He wants you.
Heidi: He's totally going to put extra beef in my quesadilla.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: What have you done to me?
Me: Me?
Heidi: You're a bad influence on me.
Me: That is unfair! Who do I get to blame?
Heidi: Let's go with your parents.
Me: OK.
Heidi: After all, they raised you to be this way.
Me: Sure, we'll go with that.

Me: The charity at work is collecting books for Books for Soldiers.
Heidi: That's cool.
Me: Yeah, I think it's something I can get behind.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I mean, I like books. I like soldiers.
Heidi: Yeah ya do!
Me: I walked right into that one.

Heidi: Look at that cloud over there! It has a hole in it.
Me: Where?
Heidi: Or is there just a dark cloud in front of it?
Me: Yeah, it's just a little dark cloud.
Heidi: Bummer.
Me: I know, otherwise it would have looked like a butt. With a butt hole.
Heidi: Haha, OK.
Me: Or a vagina.
Heidi: . . .
Me: With a vagina hole.
Heidi: Seriously?
Me: I don't know.
Heidi: Wow.
Me: You're the one who wanted the Taco Bell guy to put extra beef in your taco!
Heidi: Quesadilla. Not taco. Quesadilla.
Me: Heh, beef in your taco.
Heidi: No, really, what is wrong with you?

I don't even know where to begin with that question. Oh, and I would feel really bad if I didn't remind you guys that today is 6/9. Hey, maybe that explains this post! Yeah, we'll go with that.

I don't know if you know this, but . . . I'm KIND OF a big deal

It's true. Today, for instance, I was invited to an awards luncheon. Oh, what's that? You're saying everyone in the company was invited? Oh. Right.

I guess my big dealness is of a different variety. A quieter, more subdued big dealness.

OK, even I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.

I think Paul Rudd may be the perfect man. Don't tell Jake Gyllenhaal I said that. But, see, the other day I was watching The Daily Show (like I do) and Paul Rudd was the guest. As soon as Jon Stewart said that, I squealed and giggled like a little schoolgirl. I don't know. Anyway, so later in the show Paul Rudd walked out and I immediately started laughing harder than I've ever laughed in the history of MY LIFE because he was wearing a TUXEDO. I mean, any man who can make you laugh by just wearing a TUXEDO is a keeper. Also, he looked really good in it so that helped.

I was running SO LATE this morning and you want to know why? Because I thought I might wear a skirt today. Which meant that I had to shave my legs. And I don't want you to think that just shaving your legs is what takes up all the time, OH NO. Not only do you have to shave your legs, but you have to put lotion* on them, and then while you're putting lotion on them sometimes you notice a spot you missed (usually on one or both of your knees) so you have to go back into the bathroom and grab the razor, throw your leg up on the bathroom counter and carefully take care of the problem. Then there is the whole trying-on-outfits business. I try to pick my clothes out while I'm in the shower. I flip through my mental Rolodex of outfit options and pick out the one that is clean and doesn't make me look like a homeless person or beached whale. HOWEVER. I do not normally wear skirts, so I had NO IDEA what skirts in my closet would look OK. That's a lie. I had a tiny idea because right before I went to that bridal shower/bachelorette party in Nashville I tried on practically every piece of clothing I own. But that was a month ago. Things change in a month. OH how things change in a month. I don't know. Anyway. So I tried on a whole bunch of outfits and ended up walking out the door in an outfit (not even a skirt outfit!) that I wear all the time, only I wore different shoes today. Shoes that are giving me blisters AT THIS VERY MOMENT. Well, maybe not this very moment because I'm sitting down and you can't get blisters when you're not even walking. Unless you get them on your ass. Can you get blisters on your ass? From just sitting? I don't know and quite frankly I don't WANT to know.

Um. So today is Friday. I wasn't sure if you were aware. Of the Fridayness. I would like to be home right now, but I am not. There was all this leftover food from the luncheon and they said we could make to-go boxes and all I took was macaroni & cheese and potato salad. Also a cookie. This guy was watching me and he said I could have more than one cookie but all I wanted was ONE COOKIE because it was the only white chocolate macadamia nut cookie left. So THERE, guy! The rest were stupid crappy oatmeal raisin. I hate oatmeal raisin cookies. Because of the raisins. If I wanted to eat fruit that looks like shriveled up rabbit turds then I would put some grapes out in the sun until they looked like shriveled up rabbit turds AND THEN I WOULD EAT THEM. And then I would say, "mmm, rabbit turds are my favorite," and people would stare at me with their mouths agape so then I'd be all, "did you know rabbit turds are a delicacy in France? Well, they are. I know they look dry and powdery but they're actually surprisingly juicy," until someone threw up.

I think my luncheon food was drugged. I don't feel right and also I'm talking about eating rabbit turds. Yeah. OK. Now seems as good a time as any to end this. Bye!

*True story: I cannot say the word "lotion" without thinking, "It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hooooooose again." If you laughed just now when you read that then we can be best friends forever (BFF)

when a problem comes along, you must whip it

Two truths and a lie:

1. I came home for lunch today. I pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car, and used the automatic key fob thingie to lock the car doors. Then I tried to use the same automatic key fob thingie to unlock the door to the apartment. I hit the button several times before I realized that our front door is not automatic. YET.
2. I accidentally bought unsalted pretzels at the grocery store, proving once again that I should not be trusted with something as important as the food shopping. DON'T WORRY, though. I am dipping them in mustard and they are still delicious.
3. It is very, very hot today and is only going to get hotter and so I just called into work and told them I can't come back in because I'm sick. Also, my car won't start. Also, I have been kidnapped by pirates. Also, I was attacked by a wild goose and have to go to the hospital to get my pecking wounds fixed.

OK, that last one was a lie. Although, I did consider it, so it's a half-truth, right?

Dear Diary,

I've decided to pretend I am writing in a secret diary. No, I'm totally kidding. Do you realize what kind of stuff I would tell a secret diary? Well, think of what I tell you guys. Then times it by 100. I have no idea what that means, but I think it means my secret diary would be a lot like the insides of my brain and no one should have to deal with that but me. I have a hard enough time dealing with the insides of my brain all day every day.

Did you know you can listen to My Favorite Radio Station In The History Of Radio Stations online? Only I can't at work because the entire website is BLOCKED. BLOCKED just like Facebook and Myspace. OR YOUTUBE! I work for a bunch of FASCISTS!

I'm just kidding. Please don't fire me. But can I please please please listen to My Favorite Radio Station In The History Of Radio Stations? Please? I'll do (almost) anything! And admit it, you're getting sick of hearing the same CDs all the time.

Earlier today, I e-mailed Heidi and asked her to say something really mean to me so I would go to the gym tonight. And she did! It's only fair, I mean, I threaten to dump water on her head if she tries to stay home from the gym. It's true. It's happened twice, which is almost a pattern.

So. I haven't gone to the gym yet. I'm wearing my gym clothes. Red shorts! And a t-shirt! That says D.A.R.E. on it. Hahahahaha. D.A.R.E. It stands for don't drink or do drugs or something, only not those words because that doesn't make sense. Sometimes we would have D.A.R.E. programs in elementary school. The best one was at the end of the year, when Kettering cops would come in and hold a concert because they were a ROCK BAND called "The Coppers." Believe me, if you were in 4th grade you would totally think it was cool. Anyway. I fully intend to go to the gym in just a little while. The thing is, I just ate dinner and the last time I went to work out right after dinner I almost threw up all over the entire Cardio Cinema. Which I don't think they would like. BUT. I'll tell you one thing. If I go in there tonight and they are playing another sad movie (last night? Stepmom. STEPMOM! That looks weird. You can't really yell in italics), I am going to throw up just to prove a point and that point is don't show sad movies in the Cardio Cinema or Jennie will throw up on you.

Would you like proof that I am very simple and easily pleased? After dinner, I had a piece of bread with butter and grape jelly on it and I really don't think I could have been happier if you'd placed an entire cheesecake in front of me and told me it was from Jesus and it didn't have any calories. OK, that's a lie. I would have been happier with cheesecake. Also, everybody knows that the calories are the best part, even Jesus.

hoagies and grinders, hoagies and grinders, navy beans navy beans MEATLOAF SANDWICH

I am nothing if not a creature of habit. Which is why I was so excited about my new job, because it is 8 to 5, every day, with an hour for lunch. At my old job, the hours varied from day to day and sometimes my lunch break was a five minute span of time in which I'd try to shove a turkey sandwich and pretzels down my throat and that is NOT SAFE. Also, just because the schedule SAID we were only open until 7 didn't mean that's when we would leave. And that is why it sucks to work in a doctor's office, because you're at the mercy of patients and patients as a whole are a bunch of assholes. True story.

So, yes, I am enjoying the whole "being on a schedule" thing. Because I'm like a four-year-old who gets cranky when she doesn't get her nap (note: I do not nap at work). BUT, I do get cranky when my eating schedule is disrupted. So I guess I'm more like a dog, but I don't really like comparing myself to a dog so let's move on.

Every morning, I eat a granola bar when I get to work. I love granola bars. I could eat like 10 at a time, but I don't. Then I have some coffee. Usually, way too much coffee and then I spend the rest of the morning walking the beaten path from my office to the restroom. I pee a lot, is what I'm saying. Partly because of the coffee, but mostly because I drink water constantly so I have an excuse to get up and wander the halls. Anyway, around 10 o'clock I eat some yogurt. Because 10 o'clock is when my stomach starts growling so loud that people actually come up to me and ask if I'm OK. OF COURSE I'm not OK, I'M OBVIOUSLY STARVING TO DEATH GIVE ME SOME FOOD. Only when I yelled that at my boss I got in trouble.

Lunch, of course, is right at twelve. I think I've discussed this before, but I normally eat the same thing for lunch every day. Carrots, turkey sandwich, pretzels, chocolate pudding snack pack IN THAT ORDER. Around 3, I start to get hungry again so I usually eat a fruit cup. Or a 100-calorie pack. Whatever I remembered to bring to work with me, really. As long as it's healthy because I am ALL ABOUT clean living.

So you can imagine my indignation when I found out that today I had a meeting at 10 AM and 3 PM. Those are both of my snack times! I mean, I'd probably be OK if I only had to miss one of them, but both?! I am going to be super cranky this afternoon. WATCH. OUT.

PS: I was going to post more of THE EVIL SUMMER but I didn't really think it'd be a good idea to bring a "book" to work that has a knife dripping blood all over the cover.

The Evil Summer

By 12-year-old Jennie (I feel I must reiterate this. Also, I left all spelling and grammar errors intact)

PART ONE

I couldn't wait! My family was going up to the Keegans for their anual summer party. Chris and I had been talking about it since last years most boring party of all. Since then Chris got me talking about putting people into trances, and levetation, and all that ghost stuff. We have been waiting for this party so we could have more people.

"Courtney, come on!"

Oh, wonderful, its my mom. I guess I should go if I want to get to the Keegans soon. I got in the van and we started driving. I know in the car I must have been driving my parents nuts by asking them how long it would be until we got there. Finally we got there and I ran out of the car and into the house.

"It's about time!"

"Jeez you scared me, stupid!" I yelled. It was Chris.

"Did you bring the books?," she asked. "I got some from Christina."

"Yeah, I brought em," I said. I told her about some of the stuff we could do. We headed up to her room.

"First let's do the funeral one where we pretend to bury someone." she told me.

I thought about being buried for a minute. I had a great idea.

"Well, lets let Randy do it first!" I said.

"Let Randy do what, first?" said a voice.

Chris got up and kicked at something behind the door. Then a head looked around the side.

It was Chris's cousin Randy.

"What do you want to do to me?" he said.

"Oh, just bury you, bring up a spirit and ask you questions." I answered. "Nothin much."

Randy looked at me and said, "What are you talking about. You are nuts, Courtney!"

"Oh yeah, look who's talking, Mr. Pyro." I said.

It just so happens that Randy liked, no loved playing with fire.

"I just saw Justin come into the house," Chris said. "If you guys will shut up, we can go try it. We have enough people."

We ran down the stairs and into the kitchen to meet him. We told him about what we were going to do. We decided to try it in the basement, because it's dark. We all ran down there. Unfortunatly Chris's brother, Josh, and Josh's friend Bret, were down there.

After Chris and Josh fighting and beating each other up for awile, Randy and I convinced Chris to let them stay.

"Alright, fine. Lets get started," said Chris, not happy at all.

Will Chris and Courtney successfully entrance Randy? Will Randy succumb to the dark forces taking over his body? Will 12-year-old Jennie ever grasp quotation punctuation? Tune in next time for . . . THE EVIL SUMMER.

And the people that I know, I hate you all. And the people that I don't, I hate you all.

You guys, I am such an anger ball today. I wouldn't talk to me if I were you. I think it's really because I had this horrible, horrible dream last night and it's been hanging over my head all day. It was so bad that it woke me up and then I couldn't fall back to sleep because I was FREAKING THE HELL OUT because almost being buried alive is scary. I'm assuming. It was in my dream, anyway.

So now instead of acting like a normal person today, I am listening to angry music and snapping at everyone and being an all-around bitch.

You know, more so than usual.

I've sued my manager for sexual harassment. And it's real hard and a big strain on me. Because he hasn't done anything.

Every Sunday night, I put off going to bed until . . . well, early Monday morning. And I think I've figured out why. Because, see, if I go to bed, that means the weekend is officially over and when I wake up it's going to be Monday and I'll have to get up early and go to work. So instead I stay up late reading or watching Adult Swim or peeing every five minutes because I drank too much water/Coke/wine before I tried to go to bed.

ALSO. I just watched The MTV Movie Awards because Sarah Silverman was hosting it and if I was going to go gay for anyone, it would totally be her. Anyway, here are my thoughts that I remember because most of them were gone like five seconds after I thought them:

• Sarah Silverman made fun of how Paris Hilton is going to jail AND how she is a giant slut and Paris Hilton was SITTING RIGHT THERE IN THE AUDIENCE. It was totally hilarious until stupid fratboy Dane Cook tried to poach her joke. STUPID DANE COOK I HATE YOU.
• Robin Williams tries too hard. I wish he had shut up and let John Krasinski talk. Also. Mandy Moore is HUGE. As in tall. Not fat. Obviously.
• They cut to this one girl in the audience a couple times and I kept thinking, "how do I know that girl?" and then I realized it was Audrina from The Hills. I recognized Audrina from The Hills. Kill me.
• Why was Johnny Depp dressed like it was 1993 and his name was Kurt Cobain?
• Cameron Diaz . . . put your vagina away.
• Dude, how shitfaced was Jack Nicholson? I mean, I know that's the whole point of inviting Jack Nicholson to an awards show, but DAMN.

Um, that's it. Other stuff happened. I think. I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention because I got Phoebe high on catnip and that was more entertaining than most of the celebrities. For serious.

proof that I have always been this way

So earlier this afternoon, I was busy lying in bed, listening to music, and staring at the ceiling when I glanced over at my bookcase and noticed a folder had fallen behind it. I managed to pull myself out of my daydream haze and when I picked up the folder and opened it, I found the most magical thing ever. It was full of stories I'd written in junior high. Oh, they are so good. So, so, so good. And when I say good, I mean TERRIBLE. Just . . . terrible.

The best (worst) one was one I wrote, not for school, but for fun. I believe one of my friends helped me come up with the idea, but I was the one who wrote it (three drafts!) and BEST OF ALL designed and illustrated this cover:


Oh, you guys. Do you see that? That . . . is . . . I have no words. I think my favorite part is the fact that I drew blood dripping off the letters in "Evil Summer." What the fuck? I mean WOW. So, OK. I believe the story was loosely (very loosely) based on this party some friends of my parents used to have when we were younger and the usual attendees of said party. To be fair, I was not a psychotic 12-year-old, this was just around the time I read a lot of those RL Stine books. You know the ones I mean? Hey, he was born in Columbus, Ohio! Ha! Also, this may have been around the time I started reading Stephen King. Anyway, I read the story. It is spectacularly awful, just as I'd hoped, and I actually had to stop reading it and put it away every few pages because I was cringing so hard I could barely see. I was going to post some of it, but it's SEVENTEEN PAGES LONG, and I really don't want to subject you guys to that kind of torture. I will, however, tell you that I wrote the following disclaimer on the inside of the cover (complete with spelling errors):

Readers -- This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiosly. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

I'm really hoping I stole that from somewhere. If not? So. Weird. Oh, I forgot to tell you the best part. On the last page, it totally says, "THE END (or is it?)"

OH. MY. GOD.

why you should know how to play chopsticks

This may be my favorite scene from a movie LIKE EVER in the history of the world.

wtf, mate?

You guys, I am bored FOR SERIOUS.

I figured I'd have, like, time alone with my thoughts. But you know, turns out I don't have as many thoughts as you'd think.

Dear Internets, I am bored. Not that my boredom has led me to do anything productive, oh no. Quite the opposite. I have read a little, played some Nintendo, dicked around on The Internets, and watched half of the first season of How I Met Your Mother. Because I think, I think, it is the only DVD we have in the apartment that I have not already seen five times. I haven't even seen it one times! Well, I've seen some. But not all. Anyway. Not important.

Now, I'm not going to say anything crazy like How I Met Your Mother is better than The Office (because . . . PSHAW . . . seriously), but it is very, very funny. It may be the only comedy in the history of the world that both my father and I find funny, nay, HILARIOUS. I like The Office and Arrested Development. He likes Two and a Half Men and King of Queens. I don't dislike those shows . . . OK, yes I do. I'm just going to say it. I HATE TWO AND A HALF MEN. I hate it when people tell me I'm going to like it, I hate it when they say it's the funniest show on television, I hate it I hate it I hate it! I don't think that kid is funny! I think he sucks! He sucks! He sucks he sucks he sucks!

Wow, who knew I felt so strongly about that show? Even I didn't. Weird.

Now, obviously there are more productive things I could be doing than watching How I Met Your Mother and complaining about shows I hate. There are clean (I think) dishes in the dishwasher, I have laundry to do, my room is a mess, the living room has Nintendo paraphernalia all over it, I need to balance my checkbook, the trash needs taken out, I haven't checked the mail yet, etc. I thought about going to the pool but it's sort of cloudy so instead I just haven't left the apartment all day. Right now I'm sitting here in my gym clothes trying to shame myself into going. This happens every time I have to go to the gym. I know I'll go eventually, but I try to stretch the guilt process as long as possible. Also, I'm drinking a lot of water before I go because I feel it's important to be properly hydrated before almost killing myself on the elliptical. I just hope they're playing a good movie today. When we went on Thursday, they were showing The Green Mile. Now, that's not a bad movie. I think I actually own it (on VHS, OH SNAP!) but that is not a good movie to work out to. It may be one of the most depressing movies ever made which may explain why I was crying like a little bitch on the elliptical. OK, not really. I always cry on the elliptical but that's because the elliptical makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and never, ever get up.

You know what I just remembered? When I worked at the library in high school (nerd alert), I found this book in the children's section called You Make the Angels Cry. I swear. I could not make that up. See! Here it is. Told you. I wish you could see the cover. What the hell, though? Who writes a children's book called You Make the Angels Cry? Well, I mean, I might but that is why no one has asked me to write any books for children. YET.

So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it.

I have a problem with it being June already. Who do I see about that? God? Willy Wonka? Wizard of Oz? Who?

The Wizard of Oz was my favorite movie when I was little. My Aunt Karen used to baby-sit me all the time and she says I would come over and say, "Aunt Kawen, I want to watch Wizawd. Of. Oz." I guess a lot of people were scared of that movie when they were little because of the flying monkeys, but NOT ME. I loved it. In second grade we had to dress up as our favorite movie/literary character and I dressed up as Dorothy and my dad spray painted a pair of my shoes with RED GLITTER paint. I loved them. I wish I had a grown-up pair.

My other favorite movie was ET, which I guess a lot of kids were scared of, too. One of my friends actually SHIT HER PANTS once when faced with a lifesize statue of ET. She was like three, though, so don't think she did this last year or anything. Anyway, I loved ET and I'd walk around with my finger out all, "ET PHONE HOME." God, I must have been annoying. My Uncle John also taught me how to bang on my METAL highchair and shout, "I WANT FOOD! I WANT FOOD!" Why my parents never left me on the orphanage doorstep late one night, I'll never know.

Anyway, so it's June. And starting next weekend the month goes CRAZY with plans so I'm afraid I will never see my bed again. At least on the weekends, anyway. So, this weekend, I plan on either spending all my free time at the pool (meaning I need to find my pool pass unless I want to hop the fence . . . again) or in front of the TV playing Nintendo. Really, it depends on the weather.

Did you hear that, Willy Wonka? My weekend is in your hands.