Tuesday, April 15, 2008

One day I will grow up. That day is not today.

You guys, I know I'm just a few weeks (OK, 13 days) shy of 26, but I think I'm officially old. I pulled a muscle in my back TAKING A SHOWER this morning. Just . . . what? How do you pull a muscle while you're shampooing your hair? Explain that to me. Please. I did this once in college, too. Pulled a muscle doing something ridiculous, like picking up a shoe off the floor. If I remember correctly, the only thing that made it feel better was a pitcher of beer so if you'll excuse me, I think I need to get to the bar.

Guess what? (Here is where you say, "what, Jennie?") Last night, I was so productive. Only not that productive, really. I went running and was going to write an article, but then I got distracted by this ("This is an ex-parrot!") and by the time Heidi got home, it was time for dinner. Against our better judgement, we went to Penn Station. I forget that every time I eat there, I feel like shit for at least 12 hours after. You'd think I'd have learned by now to stay away, but you'd be wrong. I think Penn Station puts crack in their subs.

You guys know how I write How To articles, right? You really should, because besides running, reading, The Office, and Wii, that's pretty much all I talk about here. I know it seems like I blow them off most of the time and, yes, there HAVE been occasions where I really had no idea what I was talking about and so FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, do not try to breed garter snakes based on an article you get from the Internets. Please. Anyway, I do try to take most of them seriously and do the required research. This one time I had to write something like, "How to Find Love on an Internet Dating Site" or whatever, because when you're looking for advice on love and relationships, I am the PERFECT person to come to. In any case, I made up (free) fake profiles on both Match.com and eHarmony and, for future reference, if any of you are looking for some Internet loving and you have a short attention span, go to Match, not eHarmony. Match makes you fill out a fairly long profile, but eHarmony makes you take this test that's longer than the SATs. It had at least 5000 questions on it. After a while, I just started hitting random buttons without reading the questions and, just based on the profiles eHarmony sent me afterward, apparently I told them that I was interested in 60-year-old smokers who lived 300 miles away and had at least eight children. You know what? Just stay away from Internet dating, OK?

Last night, I wrote "How to Switch from AOL to Gmail," which is perfect really, because I want to have Google's babies. I feel like Google is this benevolent, all-seeing entity that watches over all of us and wants us to be happy. Why else would Google have invented Google Talk? And Google Reader! And Google Docs and OH MY GOD GOOGLE BOOKS! Ahem. For realsies, though, I Google something at least once an hour. Hell, I've Googled myself. Don't judge. Everyone Googles themselves, it's perfectly natural.

While I am very familiar with Google and all of their services, I couldn't remember much about signing up for Gmail because I did it about a hundred million years ago. Back when you still needed an invitation to sign up. But no one invited me. Blogger gave me an account because I . . . had a blog? I don't know. Whatever, the point is, I've been using Gmail since THE BEGINNING so suck it. Sorry. Anyway, so last night I went through the whole process of signing up for a new email account (RESEARCH!), which is why I now have this email address: jen.poopsmith@gmail.com. And I KNOW that's absolutely ridiculous, because come on . . . no one even calls me Jen.

12 comments:

  1. hey! hey! hey! remember how you gave me my invitation to gmail about a billion years ago and remember how i just randomly brought that up a few weeks ago? remember? huh? huh?

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  2. I DO remember that! I remember everything. EVERYTHING.

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  3. Dammit, Jen. You could have told me that thing about garter snakes yesterday.

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  4. I cant believe you pressured Heidi into eating at Penn Station - which BTW I also thing is a grease pit. You girls

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  5. Abigail, I'm sorry, I hope your snakes are OK.

    Excuse me, Tam, but HEIDI is the one who picked it. So there. I am innocent.

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  6. You mean you don't need an invitation to get a gmail account anymore? What am I going to do with these 94 invitations I have left?!

    Also, "Jen Poopsmith" made me choke on a mouthful of cereal, so well played. (don't worry-- I'm okay!)

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  7. mg! I know! I have 90 invites. I guess they mean nothing now.

    I might change my name to Jen Poopsmith, actually.

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  8. I looked into being a poopsmith once. Not as much fun as you think.

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  9. You know, I'm thinking it wouldn't be fun. At all.

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  10. I remember getting an invitation by going on some Gmail-invitation-website-exchange and offering to write something for someone in exchange for an invite. Yes, I begged. And it worked - some sucker actually bought my silliness!

    And to think that I now have a massive trove of searchable messaging. Crazy how this whole thing works, eh.

    Google could have my babies, too. If I could have babies. I mean, being a man and all makes it a challenge. Except for that sorta guy in People Magazine. But I digress.

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  11. That's it, I'm calling you poopsmith from this point on.

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  12. Carmi, that sorta guy confuses me.

    Heidi, that's OK, you've called me worse.

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