Friday, May 29, 2009

starfish and coffee, maple syrup and jam

Yesterday, Lampl invited us over to hang out, even though they're leaving for Florida today. After a while, we all started thinking, "hmm, they're leaving tomorrow . . . and they want us to come over tonight . . . and the truck isn't packed yet . . . why?" and YES, it turned out they wanted to have a packing party only NOT REALLY because it was more like a drag-things-down-three-flights-of-stairs party but it's OK because we love Lampl and Jon and OMG do you see how long this sentence is? My English teachers are rolling over in their graves. You know, if they were all dead. TO MY KNOWLEDGE, they are all living. For now.

Speaking of English teachers (sure, why not), I had like THE BESTEST English teachers in high school. Well. Until senior year. I will get to that in a second. Actually, my freshman year English teacher was kind of meh, but she had Farrah Fawcett hair so that was cool. Anyway, sophomore year, my teacher was totally obsessed with Prince so we did this whole unit (heh, unit) based on a Prince song I'd never heard of, called Starfish and Coffee. I'm not sure what this song had to do with any of the stuff she made us do, but whatever. This stuff included: drawing a picture that represented something we struggled with, doing some activity where she'd say something like, "I am female" and then all the girls would walk to one side of the room, playing a song for everyone that meant something to us, and salsa dancing. Yes, salsa dancing.

So even though she was totally weird, she was also awesome and way better than the teacher I had senior year, who totally resembled Frau Farbissina. She didn't just look like her, though, she was also prone to randomly yelling the last word of a sentence FOR NO RAISIN other than she was a huge bitch. Ahem. She didn't like me, which is ridiculous because ALL of my teachers liked me. I always did my homework and paid attention and never, ever disrupted class. I was a teacher's wet dream. But she didn't like me and even once told me I had too much imagination. Probably because she was a huge bitch. At the end of the year, we all had to write essays for our Career Passports to be included in the folder that held our diploma. The topic for one was something about what your Plans A and B were for career choices and I said my Plan A was to become a Book Jacket Summary Writer and my Plan B was to become a Bungee Cord Tester. I think we also had to write something about how we'd afford our dreams (gag) and I wrote that I'd follow celebrities around until they did something embarrassing and then blackmail them. Frau English Teacher did not like my essays. Not even a little. She told me she was going to give me an F if I didn't rewrite them and I was all, "give me the F, I DON'T EVEN CARE A LITTLE," even though getting an F on something I'd written made me die a little inside. So she gave me an F BECAUSE SHE WAS A HUGE BITCH and that's why I got a B in English that semester.

Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, right. Lampl's. It's Lampl's fault that I had to go to Target and spend money at lunch, because last night I left my black hoodie at her apartment and she told me she packed it and is holding it hostage. The only way I can get it back is to go visit them in Florida. OH DARN, NOT FLORIDA! Did I just say "darn?" Right. So. I had to go to Target and get a hoodie replacement because right now that's cheaper than a trip to Florida.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And doggone it, people like me.

At my heaviest, I weighed 80 bajillion pounds. OK, that's a bit of a lie. OK, that's more than a bit of a lie. But I did weigh too much. I wasn't healthy and I knew it needed to change but I didn't want to do anything about it.

That was right after college. I moved home and wasn't very happy about life in general and the fact that I didn't feel good about myself wasn't so much helping. I soon moved to my own apartment because I figured 22 was a good enough time as any to become a responsible adult. It was around this time that I stopped living in denial. Up until then, I'd look at pictures of myself and ignore how heavy I'd gotten. "It's just a bad angle," I'd think or, "It must be that shirt so I'd better not wear it anymore."

I signed up for Weight Watchers Online and started being very strict about what I was eating and drinking. I was shocked (shocked!) at how small a normal serving size seemed and I struggled with finding filling foods (alliteration FTW!) so I wouldn't binge on a bag of potato chips at 4 AM. Luckily, Heidi had already been using the program, so I went to her with all of my many questions.

I was amazed (amazed!) when I started shedding weight. I lost 10 pounds within two weeks and, while the weight loss slowed after that, I was still losing weight every week. Eventually I got to the point where I could fit both arms inside the waistband of my pants (hot!) and, EVEN MORE ATTRACTIVE, the ass of my pants was hanging so low that it looked like I'd pooped myself. I'd lost something like 50 pounds. At this point, I went through my closet, gleefully trying on clothes that were now about four sizes too big and then throwing them in my Goodwill pile.

I still didn't feel like I looked any different, no matter how many people I ran into that hadn't seen me in months. They'd be all, "wow, you're not a fatty anymore, congrats!" but I didn't entirely believe them. To be honest, I still don't feel like I look much different. And lately, for some reason, I've been feeling really down about myself. I don't know why but I think it might have something to do with the fact that A) it's summer and B) I wear a bathing suit a lot more during the summer.

I've decided that this is ridiculous. I should be proud of the way I look because HELLO I lost 50 freaking pounds. I tend to downplay that. Like it wasn't hard to do even though, um, it was totally hard to do.

I went from this:


to this (please also notice the perfect Guitar Hero score in the background):


I should be proud of that.

My next goal is to stop worrying so much about whether or not I gain or lose a couple of pounds because WHO CARES as long as I'm healthy. I feel like I'm always waiting for that time when I'll lose 10 pounds or "look better" and, just, what? What does that mean, "look better?" Why can't I look OK right now?

So do me a favor. The next time you're standing in front of the mirror and your first thoughts are along the lines of, "do these pants make me look fat?" or "oh, muffin top, I beseech thee, GO AWAY," tell your brain to STFU because you look awesome. I know this is totally Stuart Smalley but seriously . . . you're good enough, you're smart enough, and goddamn it, PEOPLE LIKE YOU. And they also want to do you, because you're hot. So, you know, deal with it.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

STOP. Collaborate and LISTEN.

I sure wish I knew why I've had Ice Ice Baby stuck in my head all morning. Oh well.

The problem with not blogging for HOLY SHIT almost a week (other than my Dad giving me shit for not blogging) is that, by the time I get around to blogging, too much has happened and I don't know where to start. So I just don't write about any of it. No more! I mean, that's really unfair to deprive you of all the details from my every waking hour. And sometimes my non-waking hours. Anyway, this is what I did this weekend:
  • went to a going away party for Lampl and Jon
  • ate at McAllister's and DRANK SWEET TEA
  • tried to play pool
  • failed
  • drank beers and ate taco dip
  • went to the pool
  • twice
  • went out to dinner
  • twice
  • went to a cookout
  • ate lots of mac and cheese and ribs and broccoli salad
  • went to the nature reserve
  • did not get eaten by bugs
And, I don't know, other stuff. Memorial Day weekend already seems so long ago. Why is that?

I forgot to tell you guys about this awesome conversation Heidi and I had the other day. It was pretty spectacular. Here is what I remember of it:

Heidi: You know how when we go over the speed bumps in the parking lot, we go sort of between them so only one side of the car goes over them?
Me: Yes.
Heidi: But if there's a car coming from the other direction, we don't do that and we just go over the speed bumps like normal so we don't block the way?
Me: Sure.
Heidi: Well. Remember that girl with the Alaska plates who blocked the dumpster that one time when she was trying to shove a bike in her trunk*?
Me: Yes!
Heidi: Well, I was coming toward a speed bump and she was coming the other way, and she was doing that thing where you go between the speed bumps even though I was there! I had to wait for her to get across.
Me: WTF?
Heidi: I know. It was so rude.
Me: To be fair, she's from Alaska and is used to just driving around igloos.
Heidi: And away from Sarah Palin.
Me: Yeah, because Sarah Palin is shooting at her. From a helicopter.
Heidi: "Oh, look at that moose! I want it for my wall!"
Me: "That sure is a shiny moose!"

Obviously, those last two statements were said in our best Sarah Palin impressions, although my Sarah Palin impression is less a Sarah Palin impression and more a Tina-Fey-as-Sarah-Palin impression, but whatever.

*I hope you have a big trunk . . . cause I'm puttin' my BIKE in it.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Kristi Yamaguchi okaaaaay*

Sometimes I do not understand song lyrics. Like, the other day, Heidi and I were in the car and this happened:

Me: What are they saying? Are they saying, "I broke her face?"
Heidi: Um, no. They're saying, "my poker face."
Me: Ooooooh!

And if I don't know the song lyrics, I will still sing along. I'll either make up my own secret language (it sounds a lot like Adam Sandler gibberish) or I'll hum along. Badly. Joe hates this.

Me: I like this song.
Joe: Do you know this song?
Joe: Why do you ruin music I love?

Anyway, I really have no point, other than apparently I kill wonder AND music. Watch out, Disney.

All week long, I've thought it's Friday. This is problematic, because when I realize it's not Friday, I want to throw myself on the floor and have a little tantrum. They frown on this at work. I found that out when they tried to tell me I couldn't wear jeans on Fridays and I threw my chair, sat on the floor, and told them I wasn't doing any work until I GOT MY CASUAL DAY BACK. I also threatened to hold my breath until I passed out but no one cared. Also, none of that really happened.

Last night, Joe came over and we made dinner, only we had to go to the grocery first because I'm never prepared for actual cooking. We ended up making a relatively healthy meal (angel hair pasta with red peppers, mushrooms, and tomatoes PLUS ALSO some chicken that took FOREVER TO COOK AND I WAS SO HUNGRY) and then ruined it with cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies. Oh, did I say "ruined it" because what I meant was "made it even more awesome YUM COOOOOOOKIES." Then we watched The West Wing. Maybe some of you (OK, Heather Anne) can give us some guidance on this. Joe only has the first four seasons of The West Wing and hasn't seen anything past that. I'd never seen any of it PERIOD until we started watching it. I'VE HEARD that maybe it's better to pretend the show ended after the fourth season. Is this true? Should I bother watching anymore? Please say I can just quit after season four, because Joe is getting Lost from Netflix and I'm pretty excited to rewatch everything so it all finally makes sense. That'll happen, right? Right? (Let's pretend, OK?)


Monday, May 18, 2009

When Michael plays the hypothetical game, I always say yes.

I got scared about what this weekend was going to hold when A) the Dragons lost and B) the weather was total shit on Saturday. I should have known better, though. First of all, the Dragons losing is not that unusual. And SECOND OF ALL, the weather in Ohio is completely unpredictable AND NOW LET ME TELL YOU A STORY I'M SURE I'VE TOLD BEFORE but I don't care so shut up and listen. This one time? I was moving. And we packed up my old apartment on a Friday night AND IT SNOWED. But then the next day, it was like 65 and sunny and beautiful. This happened in April. True story.

Anyway. Joe and I went to Yellow Springs on Saturday to walk around the cute little shops, but it soon started raining and I got whiny so we left. But not before seeing Dave Chappelle. After Dave Chappelle ran away to Africa and quit show business or whatever, he moved back to Yellow Springs so he could spend the rest of his days getting high and walking around town so Ohioans could go visit Yellow Springs and later regale their friends with stories like, "OMG I SAW DAVE CHAPPELLE AND A PTERODACTYL*." True story.

We all watched The Reader Saturday night which . . . wow, depressing. I mean, I expected it to be depressing but WOW. Then yesterday I thought about watching Once, but I decided not to because I'm almost out of tissues. That's not true. I have lots of tissues, I just didn't want to sit inside all day BECAUSE . . .

in true Ohio fashion, the weather on Sunday turned BEAUTIFUL. So Joe and I went back to Yellow Springs but we didn't see Dave Chappelle this time. Then we went to dinner with Joe's parents and his mom hemmed some of my pants because I am The Short and all my pant legs drag on the ground. We eventually got home, after a short (unnecessary) trip to Target, and Tamara brought us delicious cupcakes. Then we talked about poop and farting. So, you know, good weekend.

*We also saw a pterodactyl. Joe thinks it was just a big hawk BUT I KNOW BETTER.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

blah blah blah, is it Friday yet?

I have been up past my bedtime every day this week KIND OF SORT OF because, hi, I'm 27, I don't HAVE a bedtime. But there is a specific time that I should probably go to bed so I'm not a raging bitch the next day. Unfortunately, this time is different every night, so I never know. Today could be a raging bitch day, but I can't tell yet. Probably not. I mean, I drove to work in the rain this morning and put up with people going 50 in the fast lane because OH MY GOD THE ROAD IS WET WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIIIIIIIIE, BROTHA! (oh, Desmond) and my mood is still OK. Wow, good story, Jennie.

I feel like I've done nothing this week but watch TV, and I blame it entirely on The Biggest Loser and Lost. It's not MY fault. Someone explain to me why The Biggest Loser needed to be on for three hours? That is completely unnecessary. I'm going to have to cut the cord on that one, I think. You know, next year, when it's on again. Lost, however, can be on for as long as it wants to, although I was a little underwhelmed with last night's finale. That is all I will say, in case certain people haven't watched it yet because they were at a hockey game. Hee. Thankfully, the long finales are over so I can go back to doing more important things in the evening, like wine tastings and reading and cookouts and (SIGH) . . . running. Blerg.

I know this will surprise you, Internets, but I am missing The Office finale tonight in favor of something much more exciting. That's right! I just said something was more exciting than The Office! It would have to be, you know, in order for me to miss my most favoritest show ever. ANYWAY. I'm missing The Office because Joe somehow wrangled one of his favorite singers into playing a small concert type thingie . . . in his apartment. That's right, I'm going to a show in Joe's apartment. I was told there would be home-baked cookies, too, and I KNOW there is beer there, so what else do I really need?

(Psst, nothing.)

If anyone is in the Dayton area tonight and would be interested in attending, shoot me an email. If I know you, I'll send you directions to Joe's apartment. If I don't know you, I'll send you directions to Joe's apartment provided your email isn't totally creepy so keep the creep to a minimum, OK? OK.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

word salad

Last night, on the way home from work, I totally saw a coyote on the side of the road. At first I thought it was a kangaroo, because of the way it was limping (poor wild dog thing!) but it was definitely a coyote. I was on the phone with Joe at the time, and we had one of those conversations where I'm talking and talking CRAZY TALK TALKING and he is laughing and laughing at The Crazy, because what else do you do? We have these conversations a lot. Anyway:

Joe: OK, well --
Joe: Really?
Me: Yes. It's a coyote!
Joe: Is there really a coyote? Or are you making this up?
Me: Why would I make that up?
Joe: Because of that time you pretended that you saw a coyote AND THEN said you talked to it.
Me: I would never lie about seeing a coyote.
Joe: Jennie!
Me: To you! I lied on my blog, that doesn't count!
Joe: OK.
Me: At first I thought the coyote was a kangaroo.
Joe: Um. What?
Me: Because of the way it was limping . . . it was sort of hopping.
Joe: Hahahahaha!
Me: I was far away!
Joe: Hahahahaha!
Me: It's not that weird! One time an ostrich escaped from the zoo or something and was running around Kettering!
Joe: Hahahahaha!
Me: So a kangaroo could have totally escaped STOP LAUGHING!

Yeah. I didn't get a chance to talk to the coyote (sorry) but I wish I had so I could have asked what happened to his little coyote leg. If I had to guess, though, I'd say he got in a fight with kangaroo.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Cafe Disco is dead, but I can still hear the music in my head.

Even after all my complaining, yesterday turned out to be quite perfect. You know, once I left work and went home and had a cookout. You see, Lampl and Jon are moving to Florida (wah waaaaaah) but, they can't take their grill with them, so they gave it to us (yaaaaay). They brought it over last night, but Jon had to leave, so Lampl, Heidi, Joe, and I were put in charge of grilling, even though none of us really knew what we were doing. Since it involved lighter fluid and matches and I didn't want to burn down our new apartment or char any of my friends, I concentrated on drinking beer and making french fries.

Aside: I totally made french fries from scratch last night AND they were so good, you guys. So good. They tasted (and smelled) just like Penn Station fries, which means that if Heidi and I can figure out how to make subs similar to Penn Station's, we're going to save so much money.

We had a bit of trouble getting the grill hot, but Joe just kept squirting lighter fluid all over the place and throwing more matches and finally FINALLY, the grill got hot enough and we threw the food on. It was delicious and we all smelled like campfire afterward. Eventually, we started talking about poops, so we decided it was probably time to call it a night, because where do you go from there?

I think the cookout food definitely affected my brain and gave me crazy dreams, though. Last night, I dreamt I was at a dinner party with Rush Limbaugh and Sarah Palin and I could BARELY CONTAIN MY GLEE because I'd never been the smartest person at a dinner party before.

Monday, May 11, 2009

I love my dead gay son

I am an anger ball today, which is pretty standard for a Monday, but ESPECIALLY for a Monday after a really good weekend.

(If you're wondering why I don't blog anymore, it's because I can't come up with anything new to say and SO, I keep posting the same drivel. I've had a blog for like five years, people, and I'M RUNNING OUT OF THINGS TO TALK ABOUT. Sorry.)

Any. Way. I had a busy weekend, I suppose, although I didn't do anything especially productive. On Friday, I ate spicy buffalo balls and thought my stomach lining was melting away. You'd think that would have stopped me from eating all manner of junk food (hamburger, popcorn, peanuts, cookie, nachos, ice cream) yesterday at the ballpark, but it didn't. I'm not so good at the learning from mistakes thing that most people learn in kindergarten or whatever.

THE REASON I was at the ballpark was because my family rented a suite so we got to pretend to be big time while we watched the Dayton Dragons get absolutely crushed by . . . someone. I just now realized I have no idea who they were playing. I didn't know until about the sixth inning though that the Dragons were getting their asses kicked, so that's about par for the course, I'd say.

So, they lost. But I got to eat delicious junk food and drink delicious beer, so really, does it matter who wins or loses? No. Because everyone's a winner when I'm happy.

Some other good stuff happened this weekend. Like, I introduced Joe to the beauty that is Heathers. And I successfully ran on a treadmill for thirty minutes without falling off, but only because I didn't allow myself to look anywhere but straight ahead. That didn't stop me from being able to see some seriously weird activity, though. Like, MythBusters was on TV, but I couldn't hear anything because I had my iPod on and at one point, I decided the show was even better on mute because Adam was dressed as a cavewoman and I had lots of fun trying to figure out why. There was also this couple working out together. When I got there, she was on one of the two treadmills and he was using the weight machines. I think he got pissed when I came in because I took the other treadmill, but WHATEVER DOUCHE, did you mark the treadmill with your urine? No? Then step off.

Right, so I got on the treadmill and the woman next to me was all run fast, walk slow, run fast, walk slow, and the guy was using the weight machines ALL WRONG but he was really skinny so maybe it was his first time using weight machines. He kept walking all around my treadmill, too, while I was running, and I wasn't sure if he was like, walking off a cramp, or trying to intimidate me to fall (jerk), but it didn't work. Finally, after some discussion, the woman got off of her treadmill and got on the bike so her husband/boyfriend could use the treadmill. Which, yeah, I guess that's nice but I'd never do that (sorry, Joe) because I HAVE A RUNNING SCHEDULE THAT I MUST STICK TO. Anyway, I stayed on the treadmill longer than I needed to JUST BECAUSE so the guy was done running before I was. Then? He got off the treadmill and just stood there next to it and his wife/girlfriend WIPED OFF THE MACHINE FOR HIM. And did I mention he was just standing there? That's weird, right? Right?

Know what else is weird? That this entry hasn't ended yet, even though I clearly have nothing else to say. But I'm going to keep writing, OK? OK.

I believe I mentioned above that I'm in a shitty mood, yes? Well, in case you forgot: I'm in a shitty mood. Only not really anymore, because I ate my lunch (maybe low blood sugar was making me a bitch) and I also talked to Joe AND ALSO Heidi told me Lampl and Jon are coming over tonight (yay!) AND ALSO even though the people at Subway were totally incompetent AND they neglected free cookie Monday, it gave me something to complain about and I heart complaining. So there's that.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Quack quack quack, Mr. Ducksworth

Dammit, I forgot I had a blog again. This might be the longest I've ever gone without posting in the history of FOREVER. I really have no good excuse. I mean, I was moving, sure, but I had free time at work when I could have blogged. TOO BAD I was too busy researching old Lifetime movies. And reading the best cooking blog IN THE WORLD. Seriously, you guys, check it out. Once we get all the boxes and whatnot out of the kitchen and dining room, I fully intend to try some of those recipes. The easy ones, anyway. I know Kat says ALL of them are easy, but that's because she's a cooking genius and cooking geniuses think all cooking is easy.

Let's see, what have I done since we last spoke. The last time I posted, we were smack dab in the middle of birthday celebrations. Celebrations that took all of Sunday to recover from because WOW I should not drink so much beer anymore. I turned 27 on Tuesday but, since I had already celebrated with my friends, my family, AND Joe, I spent the evening of my birthday packing our living room. I find that I care less and less about my birthday every year. Except for the presents. I still really like the presents. And boy did I get some good ones this year. I won't brag, though. That would be rude.

Heidi and I moved into our new apartment this past weekend and I am SO GLAD we're finally done with all of that. We're mostly unpacked and I've even tested the washer and dryer, thanks to Phoebe, who projectile vomited all over my bedspread yesterday. I gave her a free pass, though, because she had to hang out with my parents' 80 pound Lab on Saturday and, once I brought her home, she had to navigate around piles of crap and half-unpacked boxes. I guess cats find that disconcerting. Disconcerting to the point of barfing.

Tonight I'm looking forward to getting a bit more unpacked and picking back up with the running program I've been neglecting for the past week and a half. That should go well, right? Especially since I've been eating nothing but junk food for at least a week and I feel like I'm about to get a little Violet Beauregardy. I'm excited to run around our apartment complex, though, because there are LOADS of puppies everywhere, and also ducks. I love ducks. Also ducklings. DUCKLINGS!

That reminds me. The other day, Joe and I had this conversation:

Joe: The other day I saw a goose and it had some ducklings following it.
Me: Ducklings were following a goose?
Joe: Baby geese. Not ducklings. Whatever.
Me: Goslings?
Joe: Whatever, shut up.

It made me feel a lot better about that time I inadvertently goose-honked at our neighbor and Heidi laughed at me. Good times.