Wednesday, June 27, 2007

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.

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