in completely unrelated news, LOST STARTS TONIGHT

I still maintain that seeing Jim Gaffigan live was one of the defining moments of my life (heh) and if you don't think he's funny, then I'm just not sure we can be friends anymore. Let us go over things that are funny, shall we?

Jim Gaffigan:



Demetri Martin:



Ludicrous speed:



Now that we've seen what IS funny, follow me over to The Collective and we can talk about something that is not only NOT funny, but thinks it's funny enough to win Emmys. AS. IF.

Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads.

This morning I fell into a wormhole. It happened while I was in the middle of getting ready, right after I'd finished drying my hair but before I'd put on any pants. I think the wormhole is somewhere in the vicinity of my closet, because that's where I seem to have lost the most time. At first, I fell into this wormhole and looked around and was all, "where are all my clothes?" because all I could see was a smooth see-through tube all around me and then I was like, "a wormhole? Seriously?" But whatever, I'd fallen into a wormhole, what could I do? I had to float around in it until it spat me out on the other side. I was just pissed because wormholes are really cold (who knew?) and I wasn't wearing pants. I mean, if I'd KNOWN I was going to fall into a wormhole, I would have put on a parka or long johns or something.

While I was floating around and shivering and trying to come up with a good excuse for being late to work that didn't include the words "pantsless" or "wormhole," this dwarf suddenly appeared next to me.

"Um, hi," I said.

"Hi. What's all this then?" he asked.

"Wormhole."

"Ah."

We floated in silence for a bit and then I asked his name and where he came from.

"My name is Algar. I come from a land called Dwarfatania," he explained.

"Where's that?"

"It's like 30 minutes south of Narnia, if you take Highway Fairy Princess and get off at the exit for Puck's Joke Shop."

"Oh."

"What is your name? What land do you come from?" Algar asked.

"Jennie. Ohio."

"Ohio. That sounds magical."

"It's not."

"Oh."

Then Algar disappeared. I don't know where he went. Such is the magic of wormholes. Eventually, I got out of the wormhole. I don't know how. Such is the magic of wormholes. I was a little disappointed that I didn't run into Jake Gyllenhaal, but there was a silver lining to this wormhole. When I got to work (late), I explained to my boss about the wormhole and when I got to the part about Algar, she sent me home for some reason! Something about not coming to work drunk anymore, I'm not sure.

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Today on The Collective, boys are smelly. True story.

it's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)

As I'm sure you all know, last night was President Bush's last State of the Union address. EVER. Like . . . no more. He's done. Well, with state-of-the-unioning anyway. We're so close to the end, you guys. I remember way back in 2004, when he'd just been reelected and I was bitter. Oh so bitter. It seemed like this day would never come. I was all, "FOUR MORE YEARS OF THIS CRAP I CAN'T DO IT AARRHHREWERDHFSDF." For real, that is what I said, but I might have misspelled that last part.

Still, I didn't watch it. One, because I was at someone else's house and I thought if I watched it I might accidentally punch a rage-hole in their wall or TV and I can't afford to fix that and TWO, because I had just finished watching United 93 which GUESS WHAT was a huge mistake because I sobbed like crazy through the majority of it. What I was thinking, I don't know, but do you know what I DO know? My gym played that movie in the Cardio Cinema one time and I stayed far, far away that night because this other time? They showed Hotel Rwanda and I had to leave the room because, yes, these are both good movies, but do they make you want to work out? No. They make you want to throw yourself under the treadmill which PROBABLY wouldn't even kill you. You'd just end up with this mangled, claw hand or something and people would be like, "What happened to your hand?" and you'd stare into space and get this faraway, haunted look in your eye and whisper, ". . . Hotel Rwanda."

So, no, I did not watch the chimp last night, but I have been paying more and more attention to the upcoming election. You know. The big one. I tried not to pay much attention at first, because it seemed too soon and also The Daily Show was off the air on account of the strike and I don't know how I can be expected to know what to think if Jon Stewart doesn't tell me (note to my Republican family members - that was a joke). I know who I'm voting for in the primary and hope that's who I'll end up voting for in the presidential election, but I'm afraid to get my hopes up. Especially after last time, when I wallowed in soul-crushing defeat for a good month or two.

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Speaking of the government, today on The Collective, Abigail tells you why she hates it and why you should, too.

saturday, I'm running wild, and all the lights are changing red to green

I just deleted this giant paragraph that was about how it's supposed to get up to like 50 today? And how that sounds amazing because the cold? I hate it. Seriously. I'm done with winter. I was done with winter before it started. I'm sure Heidi is tired of hearing me complain about it every day. I mean, I'm the one complaining and I'M tired of hearing it. So that's why I deleted that paragraph about how it's cold and I hate it. And then proceeded to write this paragraph about how it's cold and I hate it.

It was really cold Saturday night. Not just really cold, but really fucking cold. The wind was like an icy scepter of Satan, only not Satan because Satan's scepter is probably not icy on account of it'd melt in Hell. But whatever. It was cold. We went downtown to celebrate Steve's birthday and Heidi was nice and dropped him off at the entrance of the restaurant (because he's still crippled from knee surgery) but she made ME go with her to park the car. I mean, just because the parking lot attendant in the kicky orange vest told us that if any bums bothered us, we should yell "SECURITY," that doesn't mean any bums were going to jump out and attack her. And if they did, they're probably weak from hunger so she'd be able to fight them off pretty easily.

Then we all ate Thai food. We drove to a bar and left our tiny boxes of Thai food in the car. This will be important later.

So we played at the bar. The good? There was a popcorn machine, comfy couches, a clean bathroom, and pool table. The bad? Apparently lots of fights break out there, so we didn't stay long. Then we went to another bar. Wow, good story, Jennie. I mean, I could tell you how we played songs on the jukebox and did shots of . . . I don't remember and Heidi put on Lampl's scarf and danced around on Steve's cripple sticks and Lampl and I arm wrestled and the winner got to be the drummer whenever we play Rock Band and I won TWO TIMES because after we arm wrestled right-handed, she seemed to think she could beat me left-handed, but NO I was victorious again. It made my arms hurt, sort of. I know I don't seem like a very competitive person, but the thing is? I sort of am. It's not that I hate to lose, it's just that the thought of losing never even enters my mind and so if I DO lose, it's a cruel shock, like when you go to take a drink of lemonade and realize it's really a glass of urine that someone has left in the refrigerator. That's never happened to me or to anyone that I know of, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen.

Anyway, eventually the bar closed, as they often do, and we had to go home. Heidi got in her car first and was all, "oh god, it smells in here," and I was all, "it can't be THAT bad, cut the drama, mama," but then I got in the car and yelled, "OH IT SMELLS LIKE DEAD BABIES IN HERE," like . . . now who is full of drama, YOU HYPOCRITE? But it really did smell like dead babies. Because of all the Thai food in the backseat, you see, not because Heidi keeps any dead babies in her car. THAT I KNOW OF.

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Today on The Collective, Heather explains how Ryan Seacrest is going to take over the world.

whatever, I'm not ashamed

I've been working on How To articles all day, and when I say all day, what I really mean is I've been working on them ever since I got up at noon and then went to Wendy's with Heidi and then, OK, watched like three episodes of America's Next Top Model.

After finishing How to Apply Smoky Eye Makeup (which, let's face it, like the blind leading the blind) and reading the entire Internet, I went into Heidi's room to procrastinate some more.

Me: Blah blah blah.
Heidi: Blah blah blah.
Me: Blah dee bloo bloo?
Heidi: Bleh.
Me: Ooh! It's Jane Austen Sunday! I better go get my shit done!
Heidi: . . .
Me: Shut up.

Happy Saturday, Internets

Heidi says I have too many t-shirts. She may be right:

But I have a hundred dollar gift certificate to Threadless that says she's wrong.

This is what I did last night, after ALMOST eating an entire Chipotle burrito (I had like four bites left but I JUST. COULDN'T. DO IT):

It was awesome. Tonight? There will be Thai food and who knows what else in honor of the day a woman made sweet love to a three hole punch and produced Three Hole Punch Steve.

PS: I know it's weird that I hang up my t-shirts, but that's only because my dresser is chock full of pajamas and workout clothes, so there's no ROOM for the t-shirts.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I did an original sin. I poked a badger with a spoon.

Heidi and I break a lot of stuff in our apartment. There was the oven knob incident, and the garbage disposal (twice), my toilet, our refrigerator, various light bulbs, our recliner, several coffeemakers, the dryer, the time I threw a coaster at the wall, and, very recently, Heidi's closet door, the patio door blinds, and our kitchen light. The beauty of renting, however, is that the apartment complex had to pay to fix most of this.

With our history of breaking shit, I wasn't too surprised yesterday evening when I broke the front door. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Jennie, whatever, you did not break the front door." Well, shut up, yes I did. You see, for the past several weeks, Heidi and I have noticed that the lock on our front door was getting harder and harder to lock and unlock. So what did we do? We mostly ignored it. And when we weren't ignoring it, we complained about it. This was working well for us, you know, until yesterday.

So there I am, all tired from work and shivering on the front stoop, and I stuck my key in the hole, like I always do, but this time? When I tried to pull the key out? Part of the lock came with it. You know, the little cylinder part that has all the pins and crap in it? That little cylinder was just hanging there. A bit was still in the hole, but most was hanging out in the cold, cold, winter air.

"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps I can shove it back in." So. I tried to shove it back in. Nothing.

"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps I can simply turn the cylinder with the key and, even though it's not even connected to the door anymore, the door will unlock." So. I tried to turning the key. Nothing.

"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps this is something I cannot fix myself and I should stop messing with it before I make it much, much worse and Heidi and I can never get back into the apartment and we have to live in an igloo next to the front porch." And so I got in my car and drove up to the apartment complex office.

Things were looking up as I walked into the office, for who should be working but Hot Guy Who Works In Our Apartment Complex Office (who I will now call . . . Bartleby). He is the one I have a tiny, baby, little crush on. Not in a real way, but in the junior high way where every time he talks to me, I start stuttering and my face gets red and I say stupid things. Well. Stupider than usual.

Bartleby: Hi, there. What can I do for you?
Me: I'm having a problem!
Bartleby: OK?
Me: I broke our front door and now the door won't unlock.
Bartleby: Um . . .
Me: Allow me to demonstrate.

And this is when I got my keys out and walked him over to the lock on his office door and imitated the whole lock coming out of the door while attached to my key thing.

Bartleby: Wow, I've never heard of that happening before.
Me: Super.
Bartleby: I'll call the maintenance guy.

While I waited, I was just going to sit in the lobby and read my book (after calling Heidi to tell her if she tried to go home, it would be a fruitless journey that would only end in tears and frustration), but Bartleby came out to talk to me! Yay!

Bartleby: Talk talk talk.
Me: Reply reply reply.
Bartleby: Ha ha ha!
Me: Ha ha ha! Oh, we are laughing!

And the whole time, I'm thinking, "Is he gay? I can't tell if he's gay. He seems sort of gay. It would totally be just my luck if he were gay," but then I said, "I hope I'm not keeping you," and he said, "No, I'm here til 6 anyway," and I said, "Oh, OK," and he said, "I really don't mind staying after 6, though," and I thought, "Score!" but then he said, "My fiance and I were just going to get some wings later anyway," and then I thought, "Fuuuuuuuuck you." True story.

So, apparently Bartleby and I are not meant to be. Unless he and his fiance break up, but it feels wrong to hope for such a thing. Luckily, Heidi and I still have Bernard and Sebastian, who may or may not be gay and who may or may not have another Hot Guy now living with them. New Hot Guy has glasses (heart) and a black car (irrelevant) and a purple lunchbox (um) and now all he needs is a name. And so I shall christen him . . . THADDEUS.

Oh, we eventually got back into our apartment. Like THAT'S the important part of the story. Sheesh.

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Today on The Collective, it's your turn to tell us our business.

I got nothing

This one time? I went to daycare? And one day after school? I got in trouble and had to sit in Time Out? And it was because I said "pubic hair?" But I only said it cause I wanted people to laugh? Because I think if people laugh at me, that means they like me? So I said "pubic hair" and everybody laughed? But the teacher heard me? So I had to sit in Time Out? And it was soooooo funny.

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Today on The Collective, I tell you why you should like Ohio if you want your nut to remain UNKICKED.

Oh, believe me, no one would suspect your manners to be rehearsed.

It is a truth universally acknowledged (hahahaha, OK, I'll stop), that I often say things I probably shouldn't. At least not in public. Or in front of anyone who doesn't know me pretty well. Saturday night I made an abortion joke that I'm not particularly proud of, but mostly just because it wasn't MY joke. I stole it from the Internets. And, I mean, people laughed but first they were like, " . . . ooooooooh." And, you know, last night, as Heidi and I got in her car to go to the gym, there was this exchange:

Me: Ahhhh, it's so cold.
Heidi: I know.
Me: I'm going to use my towel for warmth.
Heidi: Haha.
Me: I'll just cover my legs up like FDR.
Heidi: OH MY GOD.
Me: What?
Heidi: Hahaha, you're all, "I'll cover my legs up like a cripple."
Me: Not a cripple. FDR.
Heidi: Um.

I don't mean anything by it. Not really. Someone has to say something inappropriate and it might as well be me. Like, for instance, do you ever eat asparagus and then forget you ate asparagus and then the first time you go to the bathroom, there's this brief, terrifying moment where you think something is terribly, terribly wrong? No? Just me? OK, then, glad I shared.

I have good news for people within earshot, though.

Me: I hate this fax machine so hard.
Coworker: Oh my gosh, you're losing your voice.
Me: Um, yeah, I guess.
Coworker: Your voice kind of cracked and faded out there.
Me: Nah, I'm just going through puberty.
Coworker: What'd you say?

Too bad for the rest of you. I can still type SPEEDY QUICK. Mwahaha!

I don't know.

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Today on The Collective, Kat tells why you should like water (and therefore BOOZE).

I am, I am, I am Superman. And I can do anything.

This morning on the radio, the DJ was talking about how a lot more people are going green when they die. Not like, turning green, which I imagine sometimes happens, but being all environmentally conscious when they choose their final resting place. Apparently this means instead of a cement thingie, you get something else (I was not using 100% of my paying attention skills, in case you can't tell) and instead of using formaldehyde, you use dry ice. And probably some other stuff, too. And the DJ was like, "I think this is excessive," and started talking about how he buys the fancy lightbulbs that are good for the environment and rides his bike or rollerblades or a hoverboard or something, but he thinks going green when you die is dumb because there are already a lot of dead people buried and he doesn't understand how NOT going green when you die affects the environment. And even though I don't really understand the particulars, I was all, "What the crap, DJ? If you don't know what you're talking about then shut UP because you are on the radio and, I don't know if you know this, but a lot of people can hear you." At least when I babble on and on about stuff I don't really know anything about, my audience is a lot smaller.

And anyway. I think everyone should be cremated, if only so they can't one day rise from the grave and start The Zombie Apocalypse. And I think we all know that, providing there's not a rage-monkey outbreak, that's how it's all going down.

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Today on The Collective, PROCRASTINATORS OF THE WORLD, UNITE!

I choose vodka. And Chaka Khan

Last night was pretty much the greatest night of my entire life. OK, I'm exaggerating. Clearly. But it was pretty great. I mean, I got in bed at 9 so I could watch Northanger Abbey AND THEN, when it was over, I stayed up late reading Pride & Prejudice. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Jennie, your life sucks," but NO IT DOESN'T SHUT UP. I'm pretty simple. I don't need much to make me happy. Pajamas and a good book, I imagine would do it, and maybe a drink.

Apparently today is the most depressing day of the whole year, which I find awesome. Not because I particularly enjoy being depressed, but because I'm not really depressed at all today, so if this is the most depressed I am all year then FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC. Sure, it's like 5 degrees outside and I'm making myself work on How To articles all day, but the sun is out and I'm not at work and I'm still in my pajamas. So there.

I made a To Do list a little while ago, but I'm not really expecting to get any of it done. The only thing I want to do today is eventually shower and get dressed and go . . . somewhere, it doesn't matter where, really, but I need to leave the apartment so I can wear my new shoes.

I told you I was simple.

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Today on The Collective, Heather explains why Batman is better than you.

who you calling a cooty queen, you LINT LICKER

My favorite thing about going to to bars is making drunk friends with random strangers. And if they call me adorable? BONUS.

We went to the bar last night and, for some reason, they've gone with the House of Death mode of decoration. There are animal heads mounted all over the place and (AND!) there is a giant stuffed bear in one corner. When we saw it, I believe my exact words were, "I am going to need my picture with that bear before the night is over."

Get a picture, I did, and in the process made friends with some people (Steve (not the three hole punch one) and his friend, NoName McGee, because I don't remember his name, OK?) who were STANDING IN OUR WAY (rude) but then they even gave us advice on both how to look scared of the bear AND fight it. Advice I apparently did not listen to, because I'm pretty sure that, in the event of a real bear attack, giving the bear a high five wouldn't help:

PS: Can someone please tell me what TV show/movie had a bunch of references to a jackalope? Please? There was a jackalope head on the wall and none of us could remember. Except for it may have had something to do with Dave Coulier. So. WTF?

here is the church and here is the steeple, we sure are cute for two ugly people

So it looks so nice and sunny outside and like you could wear shorts and flip flops and a t-shirt and you'd be fine. You might even be too hot.

BUT DON'T BE FOOLED, because in reality, it is -900 degrees outside.

Right now, I'm waiting for everyone to wake up. Heidi is still sleeping and Mary is crashed on the sofa and I'm afraid to go make coffee because I might wake her up. Mary, not Heidi. Heidi wouldn't wake up if a munchkin parade marched through her room. I wish they'd wake up, though, because A) I'm bored, B) I'm hungry, and C) Phoebe won't stop meowing her fool head off and I think it's because she wants me to open the blinds in the living room so she can prostrate herself in the middle of room and bask in the sunlight. And also chase the sun reflections on the ceiling, because she's not very smart. But I CAN'T open the blinds because they're so loud and also the sunshine? It is bright and wakey and I'm OK with everyone waking up but I can't MAKE them wake up because what an asshole thing to do, right? And I know I'm sort of an asshole (sort of?) but if anyone woke ME up, I'd punch them square in the nut and not feel bad about it one bit.

I wonder if I can will them to wake up. Hold on, let me concentrate.

Nope. Still sleeping. Maybe I should just get back in bed, but that seems crazy because I've already brushed my teeth AND it's almost noon and I'm sure there's stuff I need to do today.

LIKE DRINK COFFEE AND EAT OH MY GOD I'M SO HUNGRY AND UNDERCAFFEINATED.

I hope I live through this. If not, it was nice knowing all of you.

no, seriously, what is wrong with me?

Me: Hot dogs . . . Armour hot dogs . . . what kind of kid eats Armour hot dogs.

Coworker: What are you singing?

Me: Oh my god, I was singing out loud?

(Dear self, maybe you want to get more sleep. Or try taking some sort of medication. Because last time I checked you are NOT the kid from About a Boy.)

Here’s some money. Go see a Star War.

Ever since January 1st, well, really January 2nd (when the hangover wore off), Heidi and I have been trying to eat well and start working out again. It's been going well, I suppose, and SURE, it's only been like two weeks but WHATEVER.

Part of the reason for this new healthy lifestyle is because I have to wear a bridesmaid's dress in May but mostly? It's because I feel so much better when I don't eat shit all the time. And by shit I don't mean like, SHIT SHIT, but like, you know, bad food that is . . . bad for you. Plus? I feel morally superior to the people at work when I'm eating my carrots and turkey sandwich and they're scarfing down McDonald's. What can I say? I'm an asshole, but I know how to make it work for me.

I've made a few exceptions. I haven't cut alcohol out of my diet, because honestly? I'd rather drink than eat, thank you very much, unless we're talking about cheesecake, in which case POUR SOME RUM ON THAT SUCKER AND LET'S FLAMBE THE SHIT OUT OF IT AND ALSO PASS THE FORK. Um. Right, so anyway, it was also decided last Saturday that Wendy's doesn't count as fast food when you're hungover. For real, though, it was an emergency.

This morning I was listening to my favorite radio station in the whole wide world and after playing The One I Love, the DJ was like, "That was R.E.M. When I was in school, I learned that R.E.M stands for Rapid Eye Movement," and I don't know why, but that made me laugh so hard that I almost drove my car off the road. Which would have been sort of OK, because it means I wouldn't be at work today (I mean, it's not like I would have WALKED the rest of the way) but it also means, you know, my car would be stuck on the side of the road. And I'd like to avoid that, if at all possible, OK? Good talk.

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Today on The Collective, give us some book recommendations. Please?

ripping off Jane Austen, one day at a time

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the moment you get bad news, The Universe sets out to either A) help you out a little by giving you some good news or B) DESTROY YOU.

OK, I have no idea whether or not that's a truth universally acknowledged. I just wanted to start one of my blog entries with, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that blah blah blah something something." If you know why I'd want to start an entry like that, then I love you and you know why I love you.

Anyway, if that thing I said up there IS true, then I'm certainly glad The Universe followed up my bad news with option A.

You'd better brace yourself, Internets, for I have something both shocking and sad to tell you. Bo (my aunt and uncle's cat that comes to visit sometimes; seen here) aka The Most Loving Cat In All The Land aka The Cat Phoebe Loves to Hate . . . has gone to Pet Heaven. It all happened very suddenly which is why it is SHOCKING. And it happened to the nicest cat in the world which is why it is SAD. Let's all have a moment of silence for Bo.

The Universe, however, decided to then give me good news and BOOM now my friend Mary is coming to visit this weekend! Hijinks shall ensure, don't you worry about that, and I hope the weekend will be forever immortalized. Just like last time. I'm glad I have Monday off to recuperate.

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Today on The Collective, I talk and talk and talk some more about the last book I read.

boys have a penis, girls have a vagiiiiiina

Heidi once told me that she doesn't understand how I can go on and on about wanting to dropkick small children and yet I volunteer with children, both large and small. But the thing is, I feel the same way about children as I do about people. Some would say children ARE people. I, however, remain unconvinced. I think people in general are assholes, YET there are individuals that I love, love, love with all my heart and I would willingly give them all of my internal organs, you know, if I didn't need those to live and everything. Same goes for children. As a whole, they are messy and they fart a lot and they are loud. Oh, are they ever loud. But children on an individual basis? These I can handle. Once I know their names, they are as precious to me as . . . I don't know, something really precious.

I mean, what ELSE but precious could I consider a 5-year-old girl, one who had been clinging to me ever since her grandmother dropped her off, who says things like this:

"Sometimes? My brother kicks me in the nut."

Now. We are supposed to repeat a lot of what the kids say, because it shows them that we're listening, and as I said, "Oh? He kicks you in the nut?" and she nodded and said, "IN THE NUT," and I repeated, "Oh, he kicks you in THE NUT," I began to wonder if last night would finally be the night they'd ask me to leave and never, ever return.

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Today on The Collective, F. Scott Fitzgerald makes Kat swoon so hard she'll NEVER. FULLY. RECOVER.

six degrees of HEY, IT'S THAT GUY

The other day, I mooched dinner off of my parents and we watched Knocked Up:

Dad: That lady looks familiar.
Me: She's been in lots of stuff. She's married to the director. The kids playing her kids in this movie are her real kids.
Dad: What else has she been in?
Me: Big Daddy.
Dad: Really?
Me: She was Big Boobs McGee. Jon Stewart's fiance?
Dad: Oh, the Hooters girl!
Me: Yes.
Dad: Are you sure?
Me: Positive.
Dad: But her boobs look smaller.
Me: Well, maybe she lost weight.
Dad: Hmm, I don't know.
Me: Or they made her wear a push up bra in Big Daddy, geez.
Dad: I'm not sure that's the same woman.
Me: Dad. Are you doubting me on movie trivia?
Mom: Uh oh.

I was slightly offended. In college, I was sort of famous (on the 10th floor of Tower Hall . . . OK, mainly just in my room) for being able to rattle off a list of movies anyone was in, regardless of whether I knew their name or not or if they'd only been in one other movie and their entire part consisted of standing behind the main character for a scene.

FOR INSTANCE, a typical conversations would go like this:

Friend: He looks familiar.
Me: He was in Urban Legend.
Friend: Never seen it. What else?
Me: He was also in an episode of The X-Files.
Friend: Nope.
Me: Um . . . One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?
Friend: Yes! Thank you.

What can I say? It was a gift. One I squandered away by ruthlessly killing half my brain cells with alcohol, but what are you gonna do? At least I can say that, at one point in my life, I was a walking and talking IMDB.

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Today on The Collective, Abigail tells us secrets about Hugh Hefner.

I wish my real life was half as interesting as the life I'm leading in my head

Some weekday mornings, I walk to my car and I wonder what I'm doing. Where I'm going. I mean, I know I'm going to work, but I think, "Why? Who ARE you? Why are you all dressed up? Where are your jeans?"

So, imagine my delight when I found a genie lamp sitting next to my car this morning! I picked it up, rubbed the side, and the genie came out. His name was Gene. I told him that wasn't very imaginative and he told me to take it up with his parents and also to make my wishes already, because he was right in the middle of watching Grey's Anatomy on DVR (Gene told me prefers DVR when I asked why he didn't have TiVo; apparently with all the flashes and smoke that come with being a genie, he doesn't feel the need for the fun blee-bloop noises that TiVo provides) and he really wanted to see if Bailey's son was going to be OK. I told him that yes, Bailey's son is fine, but her marriage? Maybe not. And then he got so mad at me for spoiling him that he tried to climb back in his lamp and I was all, "Nuh-uh, Gene, give me my wishes!" and he was like, "Fine, Jennie, what do you want?"

I thought for a moment and said, "I would like 100 more wishes," and he said, "Nice try . . . that is cheating and HURRY UP because I still have 13 episodes of What Not to Wear to watch." So then I decided to wish for my bank account to never empty, no matter how much I spent.

"Hmm," Gene said. "That's a good one."

I thanked him and THEN wished for a time machine. One with a clear, titanium bubble around it so I would be protected. At first he was all, "Um, didn't you ever see Back to the Future? Maybe you, who can barely manage to do a load of laundry without setting the apartment on fire, should not be in charge of a device such as a time machine," but then I told him all I wanted it for was to go back in time and see the dinosaurs. And I wouldn't even get out of my time machine. That's what the clear titanium bubble was for. That, and I'm pretty sure a T-Rex can't bite through titanium.

"OK, Jennie," he said. "That's two. What's your last wish?"

"Well, Gene, I've thought a lot about this," I lied, having thought very little about what my third and final wish might be. "I would like to be able to fly and also to become invisible whenever I wanted and none of that nonsense about my clothes not being invisible because I'm not all about getting naked EVERY TIME I want to spy on someone."

"Jennie. That is totally two wishes."

"Nuh-uh, Gene, cause I asked for it in one sentence."

"Touche."

So then he gave me the ability to fly and ALSO to become invisible (along with my clothing) whenever I wanted. And, I mean, what would you do with these new abilities? Would you go to work? No. You would not. I flew to DC and broke into the Pentagon. Only, when I got there, I realized that being invisible didn't do a whole lot of good because everyone at the Pentagon locks their doors. I mean, where's the trust? LUCKILY, I know how to pick locks with just a hairpin. Can you believe doors at the Pentagon are that easy to unlock? I was shocked and appalled. Also, you'd think there'd be shit tons of government secrets in there, but NO. They're all just sitting around watching Gossip Girl on their computers.

After that, I was all "eff this BS," and I flew to Antarctica to get myself a pet penguin. It's so cold there, you guys, I almost lost a finger.

_____

Today on The Collective, Heather brings us life lessons from Gossip Girl.

it's nine o'clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in

You know how a lot of movies have karaoke scenes? Like , one of the main characters is forced to stand in front of a crowd of unfriendly faces and sing? And initially, they're all nervous and everyone is like, "Booooo! Get off the stage, loser!" but then the main character is all, "No, fuck YOU, I will now proceed to sing my ASS off, if you don't mind," and then they do. The rock the fuck out and maybe they're not very good (see: Cameron Diaz, My Best Friend's Wedding) but the crowd doesn't care because they're SO INTO IT.

The truth is, I've always sort of hoped this would happen to me. I don't understand this impulse. At all. I hate talking in front of people, even small groups, and I will only sing karaoke if I am so drunk that I won't remember it the next day. But I've always thought, if I were forced to get up on stage and sing, I might get that movie moment where everyone in the crowd is like, "oh my god, I heart that girl and must buy her a shot." I don't know WHY I think there is any chance of this happening, because if anyone ever tried to force me to get up on stage and sing, the most likely course of action I would take would be to kick them in the shin and then run into the bathroom and lock myself in one of the stalls. But, just in case(s), I've decided I need to be ready.

I need The Song. You know. The Song I will use to make everyone fall in love with me. It's a tricky prospect, and one I've been giving a lot of thought. I like to sing, you know, in the shower and in the car and OK around the apartment a lot, and I used to do a pretty killer Kelly Clarkson impression, but I would by no stretch of the imagination ever call myself a singer. So I need a really easy song. And obviously one with which I am already VERY familiar, like . . . "I Think I Love You" or "Ring of Fire." Or I could go another route and pick a song that doesn't require any singing ability whatsoever, like "Ice Ice Baby" or "I Like Big Butts," but would make people chuckle and say, "hee, that white girl is rapping."

OR I could choose a song that the crowd can't help but sing along to. Like "Livin on a Prayer" or EVEN BETTER "Don't Stop Believin." I mean, is there anyone in the world can hear, "She's just a small town girl . . ." and resist yelling, "livin in a LOOOOONLEY WOOOORD?" Because if there is such a person, I would like to meet them. So I could ask them what the hell is wrong with them. Anyway, if I'm singing one of these songs and everyone else is ALSO singing along, then they won't be paying me very much attention. Although, this probably also means they won't fall in love with me and buy me drinks, so that kind of defeats the point.

I think my best bet is to pick a song that I love. And I mean love like "I wanna have your baby and raise it and even though I will probably end up resenting both you and the baby for ruining my sanity AND my body, I can't help loving you anyway" love. So in that case, I think I'm gonna have to go with something like "Proud Mary" or "Don't Look Back in Anger."

The other night, we found out that this bar we really like has karaoke on Thursday nights. So, I don't know why I'm still sitting around talking to you people when CLEARLY I should be practicing.

watch out

Nancy gave me a dangerous weapon for a (belated) Christmas present:

I put it together myself! At 3 AM! Drunk!

Details to follow. I'm sleepy.

it's Friday, I'm in love*

There are times when it's a bit inconvenient to have a roommate, like when I want to perform ritual goat sacrifice or entertain gentlemen callers or BOTH at the same time (don't you judge me).

The best part about having a roommate is that you have someone to laugh with ALL THE TIME. Provided, of course, you don't live with a giant bitch who throws tantrums about empty ice cube trays and, thankfully, I don't. Anymore. But that's a story for another day. Or maybe several days. Or maybe never, because I've tried to banish those memories from my brain FOREVER.

I'm not sure how common this is in most apartments, but in ours? There are two pirate hooks sitting on the end table next to the sofa. Last night, during Ugly Betty, I picked one up and decided to wear it for the rest of the show. Because even when my attention is focused on TV, I need something else to distract me, like a book. Or a monkey. Or a pirate hook, duh. Aaaaaaanyway, Conversations With My Roommate:

Me: I'm going to wear this pirate hook to work tomorrow.
Heidi: You should. You could tell everyone you had an accident.
Me: Hahahaha.
Heidi: Just be like, I cut my hand off and this was all they could give me at the hospital.
Me: Hahahahaha!
Heidi: The best part is, they'd still be able to see your hand under the hook.
Me: Oh my god. They'd be like, "Jennie . . . just . . . go home."
Heidi: Heh, and you'd be trying to type with your good right hand and your left hook and they'd be all, "um . . . wtf?"
Me: Seriously, though, what a great way to get to go home early! "You are clearly drunk or high, GET OUT OF HERE."
Heidi: HAHAHAHAHA.
Me: HAHAHAHAHA.

And then I passed out from laughing so hard. True story. And then?

Me: Did you just toot?
Heidi: Heh. Yes.
Me: Jesus.
Heidi: . . . my farts smell like bologna.

And then I really DID laugh so hard I passed out a little. We had to pause TiVo because we were laughing so loud we couldn't hear Ugly Betty. You can't miss any of Ugly Betty, because what if you miss something funny that Marc says? You'd be DOOMED! DOOOOOOOOOOOMED!

*with Friday

____

Today on The Collective: Are you an asshole? It's OK. Tell us why.

thursday, I don't care about you*

Guess what, Internets? This one time? I met these people. Named Kat and Abigail and Heather. And they were fun and hilarious and much, much smarter than me and one of them had a GREAT IDEA yadda yadda yadda, we decided to create this new blog. Where we talk about . . . stuff . . . and tell you what we think about the . . . stuff. And it's going to be magic. I can tell.

So. Go read it. There are already FOUR POSTS and there will be FOUR POSTS every week and my day is Thursday so don't expect to see much here on Thursday on account of I will have already written something over there. The end ok bye.

*lies

and Wednesday, too

I had trouble sleeping last night on account of the wind was blowing so hard I was sort of afraid I'd wake up in Oz. Like, the Oz with all the munchkins, not the Oz where ass-rapes happen. Although, maybe ass-raping is one of munchkin-Oz's dirty little secrets. It's not that I'd mind going to Oz. I think the Scarecrow and I would be BFF. Not the Cowardly Lion, though. I'd slap that whiny bitch right in the face.

Seriously, it was way windy. So windy, in fact, that I switched the channel from a rerun of Sex & the City to the news to make sure a tornado wasn't on top of the city at the moment. It wasn't. Apparently, though, it was windy enough to cause Heidi to freak out a tiny bit about what would happen if there was a tornado. Because, you see, our bedrooms are on the second floor and there IS no third floor so if the roof got blown off we'd be so dead. We talked about it today, and it turned out we were thinking the same thing about what to do if there WAS a tornado, providing she actually WOKE UP for it because I bet you anything she'd sleep right through it. Lucky bitch. Anyway, I told her not to worry, because sometimes when I'm bored (read: at work), I make up disaster plans for all sorts of things, such as fire or flash flood or Godzilla. These plans can include anything from making a torch out of a floor lamp, a pillowcase, and lighter fluid (zombie attack) to parachuting off of the balcony with bedsheets (fire that blocks the front door) to turning the fridge door into a raft (flood, duh).

I'm either the very best or very worst person to have with you when disaster strikes. Best, because I have all these plans already so you don't have to think and ALSO I don't panic very easily. Worst, because . . . I don't panic very easily AND have a very strong sense of denial, so if a T-Rex was attacking the neighborhood and his giant eye peeked in the window, I'd probably be all, "just ignore it, it'll go away eventually."

Or I'd throw Gerard at it.

tuesday's grey

Is it seriously only Tuesday? Really? I refuse to believe it. I am now declaring it Friday. YOU'RE WELCOME. While I'm at it, it's also 5 o'clock, so if you're reading this at work (tsk tsk), you can go home. YOU'RE WELCOME. Did I tell you guys I got attacked by zombies on Sunday? No? Well. Let me fill you in. I was just walking around the pond by our apartment, reveling in the unusually warm, spring-like weather, when SUDDENLY something jumped out of the pond like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, only it wasn't a creature! Well, it was, sort of. But not really! It was a zombie! And it came at me all, "braaaaaaaains, uuuuuuuugh BRRRAAAAAAAINS," so of course, I freaked out and tried to run away. But I tripped over a goose! His name was Gerard. And he was all, "Jennie, wtf is that thing?" and at first I was like, "um, dude, you're talking," and he was like, "duh, my name is Gerard and I come from this planet where geese can talk . . . only on my planet we're not called geese, we're called Zmdleuds." It was weird. Almost as weird as a zombie coming out of the water in broad daylight, but not quite. I asked Gerard if Howard the Duck was from his planet and he got all offended! He said, "please, Jennie, this is reality, not some silly movie you saw when you were 7." And I said, "WHATEVER, Gerard, do you see that thing coming at us? Tell me THAT'S reality!" And he was all, "Touche, Jennie. Touche."

So anyway, the zombie. Luckily, he was one of those slow-moving zombies from the days of yore, not one of the new ones who are so fast that they've ripped your throat out before you even realize anything is wrong. He was so slow that he'd barely clambered out of the pond by the time Gerard and I had finished our discussion. I looked around and realized I didn't have anything to fend off a zombie attack. No flame thrower, no Winchester, not even a big, pointy stick! I thought about just running back to the apartment, but I don't think Heidi would have been happy if I'd led a zombie to our front door. I mean, she's OK with most of my guests, but most of my guests don't try to eat her face.

So. I did what I had to do. I picked Gerard up, swung him around my head a few times, and threw him straight at the zombie. It didn't hurt the zombie or anything, but it gave me time to run back to my apartment while the zombie was looking for Gerard's brains. Don't worry about Gerard! He was fine. Zmdleuds don't have brains so the zombie eventually lost interest and fell back in the pond.

I don't care if Monday's blue

Yesterday, I spent the majority of the afternoon trying work up the energy to go for a run. This is standard. When I do eventually make myself go running, I make up arbitrary rules, like "don't look down," and "stop counting your footsteps," and "you have to run until the end of the next song," and it's all fine until I'm at the end of my run and I keep almost running through goose poop that is seemingly EVERYWHERE around the apartment complex and also my mp3 player keeps playing Coldplay and making me want to just lie down in the grass and die already, but then suddenly everything is OK because the next song is Champagne Supernova and the next thing I know, I'm not tired anymore and I'm practically hopscotching through the goose poop.

Cause you know, they say pregnancy often leads to, you know . . . infants.

Yesterday was shaping up to be one of those beautifully unproductive Saturdays, but it was not to be. Le sigh. Sure, when I finally rolled out of bed, it was practically afternoon and I spent the majority of the early afternoon dicking around on the Internets, but then I realized Heidi was already dressed and was bopping in and out of the apartment for a variety of things because she was actually attempting to accomplish something (installing satellite radio in her car) on a frigid Saturday instead of sitting around in her pajamas, which is what I was doing and it's sort of like this sentence might never end, isn't it? Oh, well, there it just did. YOU'RE WELCOME. Can I have a sidebar for a moment? It was sort of freezing yesterday. Not as cold as it was earlier this week, mind you, but still cold enough that when I stood outside, watching Heidi work on her car, I had to jump around lest my legs should go numb from the cold, cold air. Sure, I could have gone inside and put on something other than pajama pants, but that would have meant taking off my shoes and it's so much work to put them on. You have to tie them and everything. Anyway, so it was wicked cold yesterday and it's 52 right now and tomorrow it is supposed to be 67 degrees. That is PRACTICALLY 70 and I'm pretty sure this is Ohio and I'm pretty sure this is January and so I'm pretty sure something is not adding up.

Anyway, so Heidi was outside hooking her satellite shit up and eventually I wandered out to have a little looksie (this is a lie, mostly I really needed her to make a decision for me POST HASTE) and saw she was struggling with one of the steps. She had to like, pry up the rubber (heh) on the rim of the back windshield and shove the antennae wire under it. Well, as you may have already guessed, we do not have the tools necessary to participate in this sort of endeavor. The little picture in her instruction booklet showed someone using what looked like one of those torturous metal poking devices dental hygienists use to scrape plaque off of your teeth. I am not friends with any dentists, HOWEVER, I knew that my dad just happened to own several of these tools. I don't know why. He's not a dentist. We don't ask questions, OK? So, I called my dad:

Me: Hey, Dad.
Dad: Hello.
Me: Can I come over and borrow your dental tools?
Dad: Sure. What for?
Me: Heidi's trying to pry off the rubber part around her back windshield? And we don't have anything that will fit.
Dad: . . . why is she doing that?
Me: Oh, she got satellite radio for Christmas and she's trying to install it.
Dad: By herself?!

Once I explained that JUST BECAUSE we cannot hook up a dryer without practically setting the apartment on fire, and sure, we also have trouble with oven knobs, it DOES NOT mean we are completely useless, we went to go get the plaque scraper/rubber lifter. Hahahahahaha. Oh man.

Sister: What are you doing here?
Me: We're here to borrow Dad's dental tools.
Sister: WHY?!
Me: Well, I can't afford to go to the dentist, so Heidi's gonna clean my teeth for me.

And I'll have you know that once we got that thing, Heidi had absolutely no trouble shoving the antennae under the rubber and installing the rest of her radio stuff. I even helped, by standing around complaining about the cold and making inappropriate comments about rubbers and shoving things in holes. So, see? We're not completely useless. It's just me.

Heh

When and if I ever get married, I hope that there is eloping involved. However, if, for some odd reason, I am forced to have a traditional wedding reception, I would not be opposed to doing something like this because OH MY GOD how hard did you laugh and don't lie.

and I don't feel any different

Stolen from Heather:

1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?
Decided to live by this crazy "No Regrets" policy and do whatever the hell I wanted WITHOUT THINKING OF THE CONSEQUENCES. Actually, that's not so different than what I always do, I just gave it a name this year.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Half and half, I'd say.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
I don't think so.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Not exactly.

5. What countries did you visit?
Um . . . NONE.

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?
Is it shallow to say more money? It is, I know. I didn't lack fun times with friends, but I'm going to be greedy and say I want MORE. More road trips, too, now that I have a car that doesn't hate me.

7. What date from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
Considering I can't remember any specific dates, I'm gonna say none.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I ran a 5K!

9. What was your biggest failure?
I did not become rich OR famous.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
There was that time in April I spent puking my guts out.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A new caaaaaaar!

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
What?

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
I'm gonna go with Dick Cheney, because he SHOT A MAN IN THE FACE. Other stuff, too, but let's not get into it.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Gas. I roadtripped A LOT, yo.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
DC!

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?
If you are chillyyyyyy, here take my sweater . . .

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. Happier or sadder? About the same, I think, but for way different reasons.
ii. Thinner or fatter? About the same, I think.
iii. Richer or poorer? A teeny, tiny bit richer.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
TV-watching.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Um, like next Christmas? Who knows, but I have an idea.

21. Did you fall in love in 2007?
I don't do that.

22. How many one-night stands?
I don't do that, either.

23. What was your favorite TV program?
The Office.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
I'm not a hater.

25. What was the best book you read?
Stop it, I can't choose. I don't know if Harry Potter was the BEST book I read, but it was the most memorable. Especially since I had to steal my copy from the apartment complex office.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Spoon! Although, that's technically not right because I didn't DISCOVER them in 2007. But they came out with a new album in 2007, so that's close enough.

27. What did you want and get?
A car that does not hate me.

28. What did you want and not get?
A computer that does not hate me.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?
Did Pan's Labyrinth come out this year?

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was 25 and celebrated once with my parents and friends and once with just my friends. You wouldn't believe which night was crazier. Or maybe you would.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?
I'm not sure Threadless and jeans counts as a fashion concept.

32. What kept you sane?
Wine and lots of it.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
John Krasinski. Jake Gyllenhaal. I will not choose between them.

35. Who did you miss?
Not going there.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
Those who were in the vicinity of Rocket Bar in DC on the night of November 24th. You know who you are.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.
Do not try to do electrical work by yourself. MORE IMPORTANTLY, the No Regrets policy may not always lead to the outcome you desire, but you'll have fun along the way. True story.

in this house we obey the laws of thermodynamics!

I have the same routine every morning. EVERY MORNING. Except weekends, of course, which are routine-free because I'm lucky and don't have kids. Yesterday, I got up 15 minutes later than I normally do AND I shaved my legs AND I had to remove 138 inches of snow from my car and I was perfectly on time. This morning, I got up at my normal time, didn't do anything extra like, say . . . give myself a perm or run five miles, and I was running late. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? I have to wonder if someone is messing with the space time continuum or something. Come to think of it, I DID see a De Lorean in the parking lot yesterday. And some bushy-haired, Einstein-looking fella in a lab coat was digging through the dumpster. Hmm.

Anyway, I don't know what it was that I did that caused me to be late. I already knew what I was going to wear and the snow came off my car super quick, so it wasn't either of those things. I did notice that I'm extra confused today. For instance, I was standing in the shower, getting ready to condition my hair. The bottle was tipped, ready to dispense conditioner, when I stopped and thought, "something is not right . . . what is it . . . hmm." I stood there with the bottle sideways for a couple of minutes, still as an Albert Einstein statue, only not sitting down and not made of poo and also not wearing sandals, and then I realized that the bottle of conditioner I was holding was NOT, in fact, conditioner. It was, however, body wash. That could have been disastrous. For real. The thing is, I worry about mixing up my conditioner and body wash EVERY DAY because they are in very similar bottles. That's why I keep them on opposite ends of the shower. Only, in the morning, my brain? It doesn't work so well. So I always forget which is which and I make sure to check the label like five times before I use either bottle. Except this morning. But some force greater than myself must have been watching out for me. Or my hair anyway.

THE REASON I'm so confused today could have something to do with staying up late reading. And also watching America's Next Top Model. Don't you judge me. There was an episode on VH1 last night that I've never seen before. CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT? That never happens. Never ever. And as I sat there in bed listening to Mr. Jay explain the next challenge, my book half concealing the TV, I got an idea. What if someone wrote a book about a reality show called . . . Who Wants to Be a Fierce Model? And the host was named Lyra Skanks. And she had judges named Jane Hendrickson and Wiggy and Miss Elle and Neil Blocker. These parts aren't important so much, what is important is that Lyra Skanks is a vapid, self-centered narcissist who LOOOOOVES to hear herself talk and NOT ONLY does she think she is the savior of the modeling world but she also thinks she's the next Oprah. And she doesn't realize that Tidy Bloom's show about fashion designers is so much better than hers, partly because of Tidy Bloom's awesome accent, but mostly because of Jim Funn. And everyone hates her but they're afraid to say they hate her because she might be bipolar. And a sneaky woman, let's call her Sneaky Woman, who just happens to be tall and beautiful and FIERCE, decides to go on Who Wants to Be a Fierce Model? and WIN dammit! at any cost. And she does win and when Lyra says, "America's Next Top Model is . . . I mean, the person who wants to be a Fierce Model IS . . . Sneaky Woman!" And then the runner-up does that smile where she's trying not to cry but you can totally tell she wants to rip the winner's face off? You know the one I mean. But wait! Sneaky Woman is just standing there. She hasn't fallen on the floor. She hasn't burst into tears. She hasn't run around the room, screaming her good luck to the heavens and the world and, most of all, fashion. Oh no. She's just standing there calmly with her hands clasped behind her back.

Lyra approaches Sneaky Woman. "Sneaky Woman," she says. "Why are you not crying and bowing and kissing my feet?"

"Because, Lyra," Sneaky Woman says. "I don't want to be your Fierce Model."

And Lyra would be all, "you're a quitter and Lyra doesn't like quitters," and Sneaky Woman would be all, "suck it, Lyra, I don't want your stupid crown," and Lyra would pass out and hit her head and get amnesia and Sneaky Woman would take over the show. And also she'd give everyone in the world a free puppy.

THE END.

the fat man walks alone

You guys! I cooked. For real. Like, with the stove and everything. Check it out:

1. Make some penne pasta.


2. Saute chicken in olive oil.


3. Remove chicken, add more olive oil, throw in asparagus, garlic, crushed red pepper.


4. Cook chicken and asparagus together for a couple minutes.


5. Mix with pasta. Throw on some Parmesan cheese and you're done (Texas Toast optional).

I know it's not gourmet or anything. But I made an entire meal without using the microwave. ALERT THE MEDIA.

You know, your voice is kind of nice when your mouth isn't screwing it up.

So you may have noticed that things look a little different around here. Or maybe you didn't notice. It's OK if you didn't. My feelings won't be hurt. MUCH. Anyway, I decided to renovate. Partly because it's a new year! And a new year calls for new . . . other stuff, as well! But mostly I did it because I was bored. Don't get too used to this. I don't want you to get attached and then when I change it again in two days, you get all sad and cry and email me and say, "Jennie, woe is me! I am oh so sad and do not appreciate all the changes for CHANGE IS BAD." Well. I don't like change either but it's time we both learned to live with it, OK? I'm doing this for your own good.

I love the beginning of a new year, because I set all these goals (I'm not calling them resolutions) for myself that I know will remain unfulfilled, but whatever. Like, for instance, I signed up to do this thing where I blog every day for the entire year. Which . . . is crazy and I'll probably forget about by mid-February BUT WHO CARES. Here are the rest of my goals, because there's nothing better than putting them all in writing so in a year's time I can come back and see how much of a failure I am. That's soul-crushing, is what that is.

OK, so I don't really have any goals yet. I mean, nothing new. I need to work on the whole saving money thing. That is A TALE AS OLD AS TIME. I almost wrote "thyme" instead of "time" there. I'm not sure why. How old is thyme? Maybe thyme is even older than time. You don't know. Or maybe you do.

Um, anyway, saving money. Somehow, I've managed to squirrel away more money than usual the past couple of months, even with Christmas all up in my business, yelling at me to SPEND MONEY NOW, BITCH. Coincidentally, I haven't had any weddings the past couple months. You do the math. Along with the whole saving money thing, I've decided to see how long I can go without eating fast food. If you knew how often Heidi and I go to Penn Station (they know our names there), you would see just how great an endeavor this really is. The no fast food is a double whammy because NOT ONLY will I be saving money, but my ass will not continue its current journey to become bigger than Texas.

And, of course, my most important goals are to NOT get married OR pregnant this year. This sounds easy, but Heidi thinks she's Miss Cleo and has predicted that I'm going to get married this year. That gave me nightmares. For real. I had this dream that I got married and had a baby and for some reason took the baby to the bar we used to go to in college and I think at one point I might have given the baby to the bartender so I could play darts. If you knew how bad I am at darts, you'd realize just how responsible that decision was.

Lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn, as thirty dialogues bleed into one

Hi. I'm back. I wish I could say I missed you, but I totally didn't. OK, that's a lie. I'm just cranky on account of my head feels like it might fall off. I'm trying not to make any sudden movements, because when I do, that's when the pounding starts and I start thinking about how much champagne I drank last night and then I get really dizzy and have to lie down.

So 2007 is over. Good fucking riddance. The last month dragged on and on. And on some more. Lots of stuff happened. For instance, on Christmas Eve, a bat got loose in our office building. A BAT. It hung out under the Christmas tree for a while, flew through the hallways, and then the mail guy shot it with rubber bands until it either died or flew outside. I'm fuzzy on the details since I hid at my desk until it was gone. I didn't want to take a chance that I might turn into a vampire. Also, bats scare me because once when I was a tiny child, I was sleeping over at my aunt's house and a bat got in and FLEW AT ME AND TRIED TO EAT MY FACE. No one believes that this happened BUT IT DID. Anyway, I work in a really old building and apparently bats live in the chimney. Like, lots of bats. Thousands. THOUSANDS. OF. BATS. THAT. MIGHT. BITE. ME. I may have to find another job.

Also! Heidi and I found out that, for the entire time we've been living here (almost 2 years), we've been almost setting our apartment on fire every time we did a load of laundry. APPARENTLY, you shouldn't try to do your own electrical work when you have no idea what the hell you're doing. There are scorch marks on the back of our dryer to prove it. Then last week I almost set the carpet in my room on fire with a candle. I think the moral of this story is, we should get rid of all lighters and matches before we burn down the whole world.

So, Internets, I am sitting here waiting for my head to stop hating on me so I can get in the shower. I suppose I don't HAVE to shower. I'm just going to my mom and dad's tonight for pork and sauerkraut (BAAAAAARF!!) and they've seen me look worse than this. But, I mean, the house is already going to smell like boiled vomit because of the sauerkraut, so I'm going to shower so I don't add to the smell.