Dear Internets, how are you today? I'm happy that it's Thursday, which is almost Friday, which is PRACTICALLY Saturday, which is, in fact, the weekend. We're having a luncheon at work today for . . . well, for no reason, really. I like having these luncheons because I get free food and most of the people I work with are really good cooks. I don't like having these luncheons because it means I have to cook something. I've gotten away with bringing chips and salsa or soda and ice a couple of times, but sometimes they actually expect me to cook something. Please. So I volunteered to bring brownies. At the time, I thought I'd be all Julia Childs (what?) and get my mom's brownie recipe and make real, homemade brownies. But then I got off work yesterday and was like, "yep, box mix it is." Whatever, the way I figure it, I can easily mess up brownies from scratch, but it's a lot harder to mess up box mix brownies.
So, yes, I made box brownies for my coworkers. But whatever, they're just my coworkers. And if any of them ask, I'm definitely saying I made them from scratch. Suckers.
Before I made brownies, I went running and discovered that it might be time to buy some new running shoes. Actually I think it's way past time to buy new running shoes, but that's beside the point. Who made up that saying? Beside the point, I mean. Why isn't it behind the point? Or on top of the point? Um.
Oh! I'm pretty sure I witnessed the best shoplifter ever at Kroger. I was waiting in line at the self-checkout and the two ladies at the checkout thingies on the right apparently knew each other and we're all "talk talk talk" while I gave the one in front Death Eyes because she was done and just standing there. FINALLY, she walked out all leisurely with her cart (her cart!) full of stuff. Well. I went up to the checkout and it was on that screen where you say how you're paying. That lady didn't pay! And she was so breezy about it! What a whore. If I ever see her again (and I'll recognize her, because I gave her Death Eyes for quite a while), I'm either going to shake her hand or kick her in the shins. I haven't decided yet. Maybe both.
I can't believe I keep forgetting to tell you guys about this. There's this commercial for a pregnancy test and the announcer has this super deep voice and is all, "when you're knocked up, you want to know ASAP because DEAR GOD babies are scary." I might be paraphrasing. Anyway, at the end of the commerical he says, "it is the most sophisticated piece of technology you'll ever pee on." The first time I heard it, I was all, "whaaaaa?" Can you say that on TV? If so, WHY would you say that on TV? Well, apparently you cannot say this on TV, because I heard the commercial again this morning and they'd changed it to, "it is the most sophisticated piece of technology you'll ever [clears throat] . . . you know." I was disappointed because it was so much funnier when he was talking about peeing on technology and now you probably don't even believe me. I know it sounds like something I would make up, but I swear that's what he really said. And I mean . . . what? It doesn't make sense. What if you accidentally pee on an iPhone or something? That's gotta be a more sophisticated piece of technology than a pregnancy test.
And you're probably thinking, "Jennie. How would one pee on an iPhone?" WELL, you doubters, I say to you THIS: say you're talking on your iPhone, but you just drank a gallon of water earlier and you really have to pee, so you head to the bathroom and . . . you know, and mid-stream, you drop your phone in the toilet and pee all over that very, very sophisticated piece of technology.
So there.
Showing posts with label "cooking". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "cooking". Show all posts
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she's out back counting stars.
Last week, when I almost hyperventilated thinking about all the articles I had left to write before my deadline, I decided I needed to get my act together. And, you know, stop hyperventilating because that's not so much productive. Part One of Getting My Act Together was organizing my desk, which I did a couple of weeks ago and BY GOLLY (did I seriously just say "by golly?" Sheesh) it's stayed organized. This is a big deal. Usually my desk devolves into chaos about a day after organization. But this time? I employed such devices as an in-box and filing system and, throughout tax doing and article writing and bill paying, the desk has stayed clean and clear and under control (did I seriously just say "clean and clear and under control?" Sheesh.)
If Part One was organizing my desk, then Part Two was organizing my brain. Granted, this is much more complicated than Part One, but through an ongoing system of, I don't know, making To Do lists, I was actually GETTING STUFF DONE. And then some. It got to the point that I was actually ADDING stuff to my To Do list at the end of the day because I'd finished everything else. Plus, I really like crossing stuff off. It's extremely satisfying, sort of like deleting those old e-mails that you KNOW you shouldn't read over and over because they're going to set you off on an emotional roller coaster, and not even one of those new roller coasters, but like one of those old, rickety roller coasters that give you whiplash and make your head all fuzzy and your heart feel like it's going to fall out of your chest, and yet you read those e-mails anyway and then think, "Why? Why did I read that?" and so finally one day you say, "ENOUGH," and DELETE THEM ALL so you never have to think about them again. The end.
Ha, you wish it was the end. So this To Do List System was working pretty well until yesterday. Number one on the list was "Go Running," which I did not do and my excuse was that all my sports bras were dirty. And I couldn't go running without them because . . . ow. Then I was going to write some articles, but I'd finished my book at lunch (shut up, Heidi) and wanted to start a new one and I was only going to read a chapter but suddenly I was a third of the way through and it was 7 o'clock and I realized I was starving and I tried to figure out how to cook dinner while holding the book, but I couldn't. You know what someone needs to invent? Some sort of contraption that goes over your head, like a headband or one of those beer hats, and it has arm thingies that hold your book out in front of your face for you and also the arm thingies would know how to turn the pages. Maybe they'd be voice activated and you could just say, "Turn Page," or something and it would turn the page (duh). Also, it should have a built in dictionary so if you come across a word like . . . quinquagenarian, you could be like, "hey, book thingie, what does quinquagenarian mean?" and it would tell you and not make you feel stupid for not knowing. So someone get on that. I come up with the ideas, you do all the work, that's how this relationship works, OK? So anyway, by the time I ate dinner and fucked around on my laptop and read some more, it was far too late to attempt anything on my To Do list and so I just went to bed. Wow, good story, Jennie, tell it again.
I wrote my To Do list for today and only put about four things on it, so I have a better chance of actually, I don't know, finishing it. So at least I learned something. Cue the tinkly piano.
If Part One was organizing my desk, then Part Two was organizing my brain. Granted, this is much more complicated than Part One, but through an ongoing system of, I don't know, making To Do lists, I was actually GETTING STUFF DONE. And then some. It got to the point that I was actually ADDING stuff to my To Do list at the end of the day because I'd finished everything else. Plus, I really like crossing stuff off. It's extremely satisfying, sort of like deleting those old e-mails that you KNOW you shouldn't read over and over because they're going to set you off on an emotional roller coaster, and not even one of those new roller coasters, but like one of those old, rickety roller coasters that give you whiplash and make your head all fuzzy and your heart feel like it's going to fall out of your chest, and yet you read those e-mails anyway and then think, "Why? Why did I read that?" and so finally one day you say, "ENOUGH," and DELETE THEM ALL so you never have to think about them again. The end.
Ha, you wish it was the end. So this To Do List System was working pretty well until yesterday. Number one on the list was "Go Running," which I did not do and my excuse was that all my sports bras were dirty. And I couldn't go running without them because . . . ow. Then I was going to write some articles, but I'd finished my book at lunch (shut up, Heidi) and wanted to start a new one and I was only going to read a chapter but suddenly I was a third of the way through and it was 7 o'clock and I realized I was starving and I tried to figure out how to cook dinner while holding the book, but I couldn't. You know what someone needs to invent? Some sort of contraption that goes over your head, like a headband or one of those beer hats, and it has arm thingies that hold your book out in front of your face for you and also the arm thingies would know how to turn the pages. Maybe they'd be voice activated and you could just say, "Turn Page," or something and it would turn the page (duh). Also, it should have a built in dictionary so if you come across a word like . . . quinquagenarian, you could be like, "hey, book thingie, what does quinquagenarian mean?" and it would tell you and not make you feel stupid for not knowing. So someone get on that. I come up with the ideas, you do all the work, that's how this relationship works, OK? So anyway, by the time I ate dinner and fucked around on my laptop and read some more, it was far too late to attempt anything on my To Do list and so I just went to bed. Wow, good story, Jennie, tell it again.
I wrote my To Do list for today and only put about four things on it, so I have a better chance of actually, I don't know, finishing it. So at least I learned something. Cue the tinkly piano.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, September 28, 2007
I was able to be on the scene so quickly because I was in the car that hit her.
I think I watched more TV last night than I have in like a month. Truly. Also, I think I ate more junk food than I have in the past month, too. Pizza! Cookies! OK, that was it, but whatever.
Heidi and I got pizza for dinner and settled down to watch a bunch of TV. We started with America's Next Top Model, moved onto The Real World, and then took a break to go buy cookies because I wouldn't stop talking about CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES and we sure as hell weren't going to MAKE them. Anyway, we didn't have milk so we had to go to the store. You see the logic? Good.
So on the way home from the store, there was the craziest conversation with my roommate ever. So crazy, in fact, that I'm not even going to try to recreate it because there's no way I can do it justice. We did talk about the fact that Heidi writes down everything that I say in a secret diary to use against me later. Because I kept talking about how I don't want kids and she said that in 10 years when I'm pregnant with my 18th child (ok?), she's going to pull it out and be all, "Remember when we were 25 and you said you didn't want kids? Well, I have it right here." And I am telling you RIGHT NOW that the only way I'm going to end up with 18 kids is if I go the Angelina Jolie route and just adopt one from every country or something. They are not coming out of my vagina. No way. Did you know you poop in front of people while you're in labor? NO THANK YOU TO THAT.
Also, she told me she hopes I marry someone with the last name "Dixon" so she can call me "Dix." That statement would probably make more sense if I tell you that almost every one of my friends call me "Bax." Which is short for my last name. I have had so many nicknames in my lifetime that I sometimes forget my real name. True story.
Also, other stuff happened, but I can't remember it right now. When we got home, we made cookies (duh) and they were delicious, especially because we ate them while they were still warm and gooey. Then we watched Ugly Betty. I've seen like two episodes total of that show and I don't know that Heidi has ever seen it so we really had no idea what was going on, but it was SO GOOD you guys. So good! I forget why I never watched it before. Oh, right, because it was on at the same time as The Office. I would talk about The Office now, but it made me so happy that I think if I talk about it too much my head might explode so I'll just say I liked it a whole lot and also I love PB&J and that is all.
Then we watched Grey's Anatomy. Eh.
I have decided that I'm going to listen to The Shins all day today. All Shins All Day! Chutes too Narrow, Oh Inverted World, Wincing the Night Away, MAYBE even the Garden State soundtrack. CAN YOU FEEL THE EXCITEMENT? Actually, I'm starting with Wincing the Night Away so I may not get to the rest of them. And that's OK. Dear self, stop babbling.
Oh, and Mom? I was thinking about it and I figured out that it isn't The Shins you don't like, because I remembered you said the song you didn't like was called "everybody something," and I'm fairly certain The Shins don't sing a song called "everybody something" and also if they do sing a song called "everybody something" I'm pretty sure I've never linked to it on my blog, so even though YOU SAID you don't like The Shins, I think in IN FACT what you meant was you don't like REM. So you might like The Shins (this is them) but if you don't like REM, I still might have to disown you. Sorry, but you brought this on yourself. Although, I haven't disowned you and dad for liking Two and a Half Men, so I might be able to overlook this.
Dear self, I believe I told you to stop babbling. Because WOW.
Heidi and I got pizza for dinner and settled down to watch a bunch of TV. We started with America's Next Top Model, moved onto The Real World, and then took a break to go buy cookies because I wouldn't stop talking about CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES and we sure as hell weren't going to MAKE them. Anyway, we didn't have milk so we had to go to the store. You see the logic? Good.
So on the way home from the store, there was the craziest conversation with my roommate ever. So crazy, in fact, that I'm not even going to try to recreate it because there's no way I can do it justice. We did talk about the fact that Heidi writes down everything that I say in a secret diary to use against me later. Because I kept talking about how I don't want kids and she said that in 10 years when I'm pregnant with my 18th child (ok?), she's going to pull it out and be all, "Remember when we were 25 and you said you didn't want kids? Well, I have it right here." And I am telling you RIGHT NOW that the only way I'm going to end up with 18 kids is if I go the Angelina Jolie route and just adopt one from every country or something. They are not coming out of my vagina. No way. Did you know you poop in front of people while you're in labor? NO THANK YOU TO THAT.
Also, she told me she hopes I marry someone with the last name "Dixon" so she can call me "Dix." That statement would probably make more sense if I tell you that almost every one of my friends call me "Bax." Which is short for my last name. I have had so many nicknames in my lifetime that I sometimes forget my real name. True story.
Also, other stuff happened, but I can't remember it right now. When we got home, we made cookies (duh) and they were delicious, especially because we ate them while they were still warm and gooey. Then we watched Ugly Betty. I've seen like two episodes total of that show and I don't know that Heidi has ever seen it so we really had no idea what was going on, but it was SO GOOD you guys. So good! I forget why I never watched it before. Oh, right, because it was on at the same time as The Office. I would talk about The Office now, but it made me so happy that I think if I talk about it too much my head might explode so I'll just say I liked it a whole lot and also I love PB&J and that is all.
Then we watched Grey's Anatomy. Eh.
I have decided that I'm going to listen to The Shins all day today. All Shins All Day! Chutes too Narrow, Oh Inverted World, Wincing the Night Away, MAYBE even the Garden State soundtrack. CAN YOU FEEL THE EXCITEMENT? Actually, I'm starting with Wincing the Night Away so I may not get to the rest of them. And that's OK. Dear self, stop babbling.
Oh, and Mom? I was thinking about it and I figured out that it isn't The Shins you don't like, because I remembered you said the song you didn't like was called "everybody something," and I'm fairly certain The Shins don't sing a song called "everybody something" and also if they do sing a song called "everybody something" I'm pretty sure I've never linked to it on my blog, so even though YOU SAID you don't like The Shins, I think in IN FACT what you meant was you don't like REM. So you might like The Shins (this is them) but if you don't like REM, I still might have to disown you. Sorry, but you brought this on yourself. Although, I haven't disowned you and dad for liking Two and a Half Men, so I might be able to overlook this.
Dear self, I believe I told you to stop babbling. Because WOW.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
miss almost, miss maybe, miss halfway
Heidi is working her other job tonight (on the corner . . . ZING! Jennie shut up) so I've been getting lots accomplished. Here is what I've done:
Went to the grocery. Bought salad, Q-tips, and chapstick.
Made dinner. Consisting of leftover chicken cut up on top of salad and french fries. French fries not in salad, but on side.
Finished my book.
Contemplated started a new one.
Watched House instead.
Dicked around on the Internets reading blogs and trying to figure out how to pronounce "Sufjan."
SERIOUSLY someone tell me, I'm sick of being afraid to try and say it because I'm going to say it wrong.
That's it. I didn't go to the gym. I didn't do anything productive, except OOH I paid one bill. Go me. Because when Heidi is not here I come home and put on my pajamas and revert to the hermit lady I once was when I lived alone. And what is wrong with being a crazy hermit lady, I want to know.
Anyway, it's been a weird year so far, yeah? Yeah. Thanks for agreeing with me. Since I am not doing anything productive this evening, I thought I'd take stock of the resolutions I made AAAAALL the way back in January. If you don't like it, you can just GO AWAY (please don't) or read it and complain in the comments or something. I don't care. I was going to answer more questions but I got tired of all the soul-crushing and truth-telling. Ha, no, I don't really know what I'm talking about either. So . . . let's do this thing.
Write more (this blog doesn't count as writing, since I am basically just spewing word salad everywhere)
Ha! This hasn't happened and I actually accidentally deleted Microsoft Office from my computer. Yes, accidentally. That will teach me to try and clean up my computer after drinking half a bottle of wine.
Eat better (because dinners consisting of pb&j and applesauce are not cutting it)
Actually, we've been doing a lot better with this! I say we, because Heidi makes me buy actual food at the grocery and cook it. Left to my own devices, I'd eat Hot Pockets and chips and salsa every night.
For that matter, learn to cook. Because the pictures Kat takes of her food are so pretty.
This is kind of working. Remember that time I made banana bread?! It was SO. GOOD. You don't even know. Well, some of you do. The rest of you don't, though. Sorry. (Heh, sorry, Sorry . . . like five people got that.) There was a minor setback when Heidi and I tried to make prime rib, but once it finally finished cooking, that tasted pretty damn good, too.
Stop procrastinating as much (we'll see how that goes, seeing as how I waited til the 4th to make any resolutions)
HAHAHAHA!
Don't get pregnant (so far, so good)
No babies.
Don't get married in Vegas (so far, so good)
No husbands.
or anywhere else (so far, so good)
I said no husbands. Pay attention.
Don't get bitten by a zombie (so far, so good)
I don't think so, although that would explain the whole not sleeping thing. See: Yesterday.
Clean the apartment more often (yeah, we'll see)
Who knows? There are no piles of garbage anywhere or families of cockroaches under the stove so I'm putting this one in the win column. Yes, there are columns.
Go to the doctor when sick instead of trying to treat self with a combination of denial, naps, and lots of self-medicating
But the self-medicating is the best part! What was I thinking?
Spend fewer hours dicking around on the Internets
Again, I say, HAHAHAHA!
Take more pictures
Done and DONE
Travel somewhere other than Chicago (any suggestions?)
Heh. Done and DONE. And then some.
Visit Chicago at least twice, though
Not yet. Give me time. GIVE ME TIME I SAID.
Stop calling Phoebe names like slut, whore, bitch, pussy, slutbag, etc. even though SHE TOTALLY DESERVES IT
Never gonna happen.
OK, so I'm not going to lie to you guys. I went back in my archives (archives sounds so pretentious) to look for the prime rib incident (different than The Noodle Incident) and I just kept reading and reading because I honestly have forgotten writing most of it. I don't know what that's about. I didn't write all of it drunk or anything. Maybe bits and pieces but not three months worth. It reminded me of the other night when Heidi read me this old e-mail she found that I sent like a year and a half ago to tell everyone my new phone number, only I kept rambling on and on about gorillas and pirates and gorilla pirates. I think I have some sort of brain disorder. I'd better go watch more House.
Went to the grocery. Bought salad, Q-tips, and chapstick.
Made dinner. Consisting of leftover chicken cut up on top of salad and french fries. French fries not in salad, but on side.
Finished my book.
Contemplated started a new one.
Watched House instead.
Dicked around on the Internets reading blogs and trying to figure out how to pronounce "Sufjan."
SERIOUSLY someone tell me, I'm sick of being afraid to try and say it because I'm going to say it wrong.
That's it. I didn't go to the gym. I didn't do anything productive, except OOH I paid one bill. Go me. Because when Heidi is not here I come home and put on my pajamas and revert to the hermit lady I once was when I lived alone. And what is wrong with being a crazy hermit lady, I want to know.
Anyway, it's been a weird year so far, yeah? Yeah. Thanks for agreeing with me. Since I am not doing anything productive this evening, I thought I'd take stock of the resolutions I made AAAAALL the way back in January. If you don't like it, you can just GO AWAY (please don't) or read it and complain in the comments or something. I don't care. I was going to answer more questions but I got tired of all the soul-crushing and truth-telling. Ha, no, I don't really know what I'm talking about either. So . . . let's do this thing.
Write more (this blog doesn't count as writing, since I am basically just spewing word salad everywhere)
Ha! This hasn't happened and I actually accidentally deleted Microsoft Office from my computer. Yes, accidentally. That will teach me to try and clean up my computer after drinking half a bottle of wine.
Eat better (because dinners consisting of pb&j and applesauce are not cutting it)
Actually, we've been doing a lot better with this! I say we, because Heidi makes me buy actual food at the grocery and cook it. Left to my own devices, I'd eat Hot Pockets and chips and salsa every night.
For that matter, learn to cook. Because the pictures Kat takes of her food are so pretty.
This is kind of working. Remember that time I made banana bread?! It was SO. GOOD. You don't even know. Well, some of you do. The rest of you don't, though. Sorry. (Heh, sorry, Sorry . . . like five people got that.) There was a minor setback when Heidi and I tried to make prime rib, but once it finally finished cooking, that tasted pretty damn good, too.
Stop procrastinating as much (we'll see how that goes, seeing as how I waited til the 4th to make any resolutions)
HAHAHAHA!
Don't get pregnant (so far, so good)
No babies.
Don't get married in Vegas (so far, so good)
No husbands.
or anywhere else (so far, so good)
I said no husbands. Pay attention.
Don't get bitten by a zombie (so far, so good)
I don't think so, although that would explain the whole not sleeping thing. See: Yesterday.
Clean the apartment more often (yeah, we'll see)
Who knows? There are no piles of garbage anywhere or families of cockroaches under the stove so I'm putting this one in the win column. Yes, there are columns.
Go to the doctor when sick instead of trying to treat self with a combination of denial, naps, and lots of self-medicating
But the self-medicating is the best part! What was I thinking?
Spend fewer hours dicking around on the Internets
Again, I say, HAHAHAHA!
Take more pictures
Done and DONE
Travel somewhere other than Chicago (any suggestions?)
Heh. Done and DONE. And then some.
Visit Chicago at least twice, though
Not yet. Give me time. GIVE ME TIME I SAID.
Stop calling Phoebe names like slut, whore, bitch, pussy, slutbag, etc. even though SHE TOTALLY DESERVES IT
Never gonna happen.
OK, so I'm not going to lie to you guys. I went back in my archives (archives sounds so pretentious) to look for the prime rib incident (different than The Noodle Incident) and I just kept reading and reading because I honestly have forgotten writing most of it. I don't know what that's about. I didn't write all of it drunk or anything. Maybe bits and pieces but not three months worth. It reminded me of the other night when Heidi read me this old e-mail she found that I sent like a year and a half ago to tell everyone my new phone number, only I kept rambling on and on about gorillas and pirates and gorilla pirates. I think I have some sort of brain disorder. I'd better go watch more House.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
so give me your hand and let's jump out the window la la la la la
YOU GUYS! Today is it SUNNY and over FORTY DEGREES OUTSIDE! DO YOU SEE HOW EXCITED I AM?! CAPS LOCK! MEANS! EXCITED!
Seriously, do you know how great it is to walk outside and it's not so cold that you want to cry, but you're afraid to cry because the tears might freeze to your face and even though it'd be kind of awesome to peel long strings of ice-tears off of your face, you think it might also hurt and leave a weird mark so you'd rather not? Did anyone follow that? No? Me neither.
Does anyone else think this whole blogging thing is weird sometimes? Like, today, I spent most of the day at work thinking of Friends quotes to put in my Gmail status box because, um, that's what all other cool kids were doing and when I say cool kids, I mean People of the Internets. Do you guys really exist? I mean, really? I know some of you do, because I went to college with you or I've hung out with you or, hello, I live with you. Or I've seen pictures of you and I'm assuming my brain isn't sophisticated to make all of that up. Or you've introduced me to your friends so I'm assuming if your friends aren't imaginary than you aren't either. But the rest of you . . . are you really there or figments of my imagination? I hope you're real and not just in my head, but if you are, at least you're entertaining. Is anyone following this? No? Me neither.
I got off work early today so I came home, put on my pajamas and started doing laundry. Who else is jealous of my super-exciting life? Don't everyone put your hands up at once. Later I plan on making a salad and chicken for dinner unless I completely lose all motivation and make peanut butter and jelly. Which, ok, does sound really freaking good right now. OK, NOW who is jealous of my super-exciting life and DON'T LIE. You have no idea what kinds of super-exciting things I do all day long except, oh wait, yes you do because I tell you everything. Well, almost everything. Some things I only tell Heidi. Like on Monday? This happened:
Me: Heidi, can I tell you something really gross?
Heidi: Sure.
Me: No, I mean, it is really, really gross.
Heidi: OK.
Me: OK . . .
And then I told her the grossest thing ever* and she barely blinked. I'm not sure what that means. Does anyone know where I'm going with this? No? Me neither.
So I've been listening to the same song over and over for the past three days. I don't know why. When I really like a song I prefer to listen to it all day and all night and if I can't listen to it then I like to have it stuck in my head so I can hum it when other people aren't listening. I can't stop myself. It's a sickness. This is what happens:
Brain: OH MY GOD are you listening to this again?
Me: Yes.
Brain: WHY?
Me: I like it.
Brain: OK. But this is like the 30th time today.
Me: Don't exaggerate.
Brain: I'm not. Actually, I'm being generous. It's probably more like the 70th time today.
Me: Now you're exaggerating.
Brain: Maybe.
Me: OK, just one more time.
Brain: NO!
Me: One more!
Brain: No more, please for the love of the little baby Jesus!
Me: Please?
Brain: OK, it is kind of growing on me.
Me: Ha!
Does anyone care where I'm going with this? No? Me neither.
*Seriously, it was disgusting . . . but funny. I laughed, anyway.
Seriously, do you know how great it is to walk outside and it's not so cold that you want to cry, but you're afraid to cry because the tears might freeze to your face and even though it'd be kind of awesome to peel long strings of ice-tears off of your face, you think it might also hurt and leave a weird mark so you'd rather not? Did anyone follow that? No? Me neither.
Does anyone else think this whole blogging thing is weird sometimes? Like, today, I spent most of the day at work thinking of Friends quotes to put in my Gmail status box because, um, that's what all other cool kids were doing and when I say cool kids, I mean People of the Internets. Do you guys really exist? I mean, really? I know some of you do, because I went to college with you or I've hung out with you or, hello, I live with you. Or I've seen pictures of you and I'm assuming my brain isn't sophisticated to make all of that up. Or you've introduced me to your friends so I'm assuming if your friends aren't imaginary than you aren't either. But the rest of you . . . are you really there or figments of my imagination? I hope you're real and not just in my head, but if you are, at least you're entertaining. Is anyone following this? No? Me neither.
I got off work early today so I came home, put on my pajamas and started doing laundry. Who else is jealous of my super-exciting life? Don't everyone put your hands up at once. Later I plan on making a salad and chicken for dinner unless I completely lose all motivation and make peanut butter and jelly. Which, ok, does sound really freaking good right now. OK, NOW who is jealous of my super-exciting life and DON'T LIE. You have no idea what kinds of super-exciting things I do all day long except, oh wait, yes you do because I tell you everything. Well, almost everything. Some things I only tell Heidi. Like on Monday? This happened:
Me: Heidi, can I tell you something really gross?
Heidi: Sure.
Me: No, I mean, it is really, really gross.
Heidi: OK.
Me: OK . . .
And then I told her the grossest thing ever* and she barely blinked. I'm not sure what that means. Does anyone know where I'm going with this? No? Me neither.
So I've been listening to the same song over and over for the past three days. I don't know why. When I really like a song I prefer to listen to it all day and all night and if I can't listen to it then I like to have it stuck in my head so I can hum it when other people aren't listening. I can't stop myself. It's a sickness. This is what happens:
Brain: OH MY GOD are you listening to this again?
Me: Yes.
Brain: WHY?
Me: I like it.
Brain: OK. But this is like the 30th time today.
Me: Don't exaggerate.
Brain: I'm not. Actually, I'm being generous. It's probably more like the 70th time today.
Me: Now you're exaggerating.
Brain: Maybe.
Me: OK, just one more time.
Brain: NO!
Me: One more!
Brain: No more, please for the love of the little baby Jesus!
Me: Please?
Brain: OK, it is kind of growing on me.
Me: Ha!
Does anyone care where I'm going with this? No? Me neither.
*Seriously, it was disgusting . . . but funny. I laughed, anyway.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
You’re a real-life wedding crasher, and I must bounce you. I’m sorry, it gives me no pleasure.
DISCLAIMER: This entry drops the F bomb all over the place. Please protect your virgin ears if you are into that sort of thing. Everyone else, all the F bombs are toward the end. Fuck. Except that one. That's the thing about the F bomb. It drops when you least expect it.
Phoebe gives me really weird looks when I sing, OK yell, Journey lyrics at her. Whatever, CAT, you spent the entire morning staring at the sun reflections on the ceiling! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME. And seriously? Anyone who doesn't like Journey can just get the hell out of my apartment RIGHT NOW. That is a new rule. Everyone must sing a Journey lyric before they enter the apartment. Heidi, I hope you're OK with this. I mean, I spend the majority of my life with a Journey song stuck in my head so I'm just trying to pass along the joy.
So, you know how I was complaining about having to work yesterday? I realize it's difficult to keep track of all the things I complain about, but try and keep up. Right, so, I was complaining about having to go to work but really? On the Saturdays that I have to get up early and go into work, I am so much more productive than I am on normal Saturdays. For instance, yesterday after work I got gas, checked my oil, got a hair cut, dyed my hair, went to the gym, balanced my checkbook, cooked dinner (although "cooked" might be stretching it since I mostly used the microwave), and . . . OK, that's it. But last Saturday? When I didn't have to work? I worked out. That is the only productive thing I did. There was that whole prime rib incident, too, but I'm not sure that counts.
There are these two weight machines at the gym . . . I have no idea what they're really called, but Heidi and I call them the slut machines. Because, see, they both involve spreading your legs as wide as humanly possible. The first night we tried to do them in shorts and I will never, ever do that again because there are some things I do not want strangers to know and that includes the color of my underwear. So now I make sure I do those machines first, while I still have my pants on. LET ME ELABORATE, when I do take my pants off at the gym, I always ALWAYS have shorts on underneath them. I do not walk around the gym pantsless because I think they frown upon that. Anyway, the slut machines are my favorite ones in the whole gym so I'm not sure what that says about me.
Did I tell you that you can watch movies while you work out? Well, you can. There's even a sheet at the desk where you can request movies. Only there's a little note that says "no nudity," so I guess I can't request, I don't know, Wedding Crashers. Who wouldn't like to watch Wedding Crashers while they work out? Sure, it might be dangerous because I could start laughing really hard and slide off the treadmill but that is a risk I'm willing to take. But we can't watch it because there are boobies in it. And if we have learned anything from Janet Jackson, it is that boobies are scary and should remain hidden at all times, especially during sporting events. I don't even remember where I was going with this. Let's pretend that what I'm saying makes sense, though, OK? OK. So, we can't watch movies with boobies or hoohas in it, but apparently profanity and violence are totally fine. Yesterday they were showing Courage Under Fire, which alternated between Denzel Washington in an army uniform (mmm) interviewing hot soldiers in uniform (Matt Damon, for instance) and battle scenes that went something like this:
Soldier 1: Woe is me! They are fucking shooting at us!
Meg Ryan: I would suggest that you fucking shoot back!
Soldier 2: Ma'am, with all fucking due respect, I cannot seem to hit those motherfuckers with this fucking gun.
Meg Ryan: Blow up their fucking tank!
Soldier 1: Ma'am, I do not have any fucking ammo left with which to blow up any fucking tanks. I fear we may all fucking perish.
Meg Ryan: I would be much obliged if you would shut the fuck up and obtain some fucking flares.
Soldier 2: Fucking flares, ma'am?
Meg Ryan: I do believe that is what I fucking said. Fucking flares will be ideal for blowing up their fucking tank and saving our fucking lives.
Soldier 1: Yes, ma'am.
Soldier 2: I don't mean to be a nuisance, but I have just been shot in the fucking jugular.
Soldier 1: Fuck. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck fuck.
Meg Ryan: Fuck.
Me: Bring back Denzel!
Gym Attendant: Ma'am, please don't yell at the screen.
Me: Don't fucking call me ma'am.
Anyway, so my point is I think we should be allowed to watch Wedding Crashers.
Phoebe gives me really weird looks when I sing, OK yell, Journey lyrics at her. Whatever, CAT, you spent the entire morning staring at the sun reflections on the ceiling! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME. And seriously? Anyone who doesn't like Journey can just get the hell out of my apartment RIGHT NOW. That is a new rule. Everyone must sing a Journey lyric before they enter the apartment. Heidi, I hope you're OK with this. I mean, I spend the majority of my life with a Journey song stuck in my head so I'm just trying to pass along the joy.
So, you know how I was complaining about having to work yesterday? I realize it's difficult to keep track of all the things I complain about, but try and keep up. Right, so, I was complaining about having to go to work but really? On the Saturdays that I have to get up early and go into work, I am so much more productive than I am on normal Saturdays. For instance, yesterday after work I got gas, checked my oil, got a hair cut, dyed my hair, went to the gym, balanced my checkbook, cooked dinner (although "cooked" might be stretching it since I mostly used the microwave), and . . . OK, that's it. But last Saturday? When I didn't have to work? I worked out. That is the only productive thing I did. There was that whole prime rib incident, too, but I'm not sure that counts.
There are these two weight machines at the gym . . . I have no idea what they're really called, but Heidi and I call them the slut machines. Because, see, they both involve spreading your legs as wide as humanly possible. The first night we tried to do them in shorts and I will never, ever do that again because there are some things I do not want strangers to know and that includes the color of my underwear. So now I make sure I do those machines first, while I still have my pants on. LET ME ELABORATE, when I do take my pants off at the gym, I always ALWAYS have shorts on underneath them. I do not walk around the gym pantsless because I think they frown upon that. Anyway, the slut machines are my favorite ones in the whole gym so I'm not sure what that says about me.
Did I tell you that you can watch movies while you work out? Well, you can. There's even a sheet at the desk where you can request movies. Only there's a little note that says "no nudity," so I guess I can't request, I don't know, Wedding Crashers. Who wouldn't like to watch Wedding Crashers while they work out? Sure, it might be dangerous because I could start laughing really hard and slide off the treadmill but that is a risk I'm willing to take. But we can't watch it because there are boobies in it. And if we have learned anything from Janet Jackson, it is that boobies are scary and should remain hidden at all times, especially during sporting events. I don't even remember where I was going with this. Let's pretend that what I'm saying makes sense, though, OK? OK. So, we can't watch movies with boobies or hoohas in it, but apparently profanity and violence are totally fine. Yesterday they were showing Courage Under Fire, which alternated between Denzel Washington in an army uniform (mmm) interviewing hot soldiers in uniform (Matt Damon, for instance) and battle scenes that went something like this:
Soldier 1: Woe is me! They are fucking shooting at us!
Meg Ryan: I would suggest that you fucking shoot back!
Soldier 2: Ma'am, with all fucking due respect, I cannot seem to hit those motherfuckers with this fucking gun.
Meg Ryan: Blow up their fucking tank!
Soldier 1: Ma'am, I do not have any fucking ammo left with which to blow up any fucking tanks. I fear we may all fucking perish.
Meg Ryan: I would be much obliged if you would shut the fuck up and obtain some fucking flares.
Soldier 2: Fucking flares, ma'am?
Meg Ryan: I do believe that is what I fucking said. Fucking flares will be ideal for blowing up their fucking tank and saving our fucking lives.
Soldier 1: Yes, ma'am.
Soldier 2: I don't mean to be a nuisance, but I have just been shot in the fucking jugular.
Soldier 1: Fuck. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck fuck.
Meg Ryan: Fuck.
Me: Bring back Denzel!
Gym Attendant: Ma'am, please don't yell at the screen.
Me: Don't fucking call me ma'am.
Anyway, so my point is I think we should be allowed to watch Wedding Crashers.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
I said BRR, it's cold in here! There must be some Toros in the atmosphere!
It's cold outside. And it snowed. It took me twice as long to get home Tuesday night because of all the snow. Going 20 on the highway? Not as fun as you might think. I hate you, February, SO MUCH.
So, last weekend Heidi and I tried to make a grown-up dinner. On Saturday, we decided that instead of going out to eat like we normally do on Saturdays (and Fridays and Sundays and sometimes Thursdays), we'd cook the prime rib she'd gotten (free) from work. I wasn't exactly sure what a prime rib was . . . I mean, yeah, I knew it was meat of some sort but that was only because it was thawing all big-hulking-meat style in our sink. It didn't really look that appetizing but the picture on the packaging looked pretty delicious. Luckily, there were also directions on the package so we didn't think we could mess things up TOO much. This coming from the people who couldn't use their oven for three months because the knob was on upside-down.
Heidi: It says to cook it in a roasting pan.
Me: Do we have one of those?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Um.
Heidi: Um.
Me: Oh, wait! Is this a roasting pan?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: We don't have a meat thermometer, either.
Me: We could buy one.
Heidi: Do you think your parents have one?
Me: Oh yeah! I'll see if we can borrow theirs.
Heidi: Maybe we can ask them if this is a roasting pan, too.
Me: OK. I'll take a picture of it with my phone!
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know. I am all kinds of special.
We ventured over to visit my parents. After showering, though. Because when I told my mom that Heidi and I had worked out Friday night and not showered after and then worked out again Saturday morning and then cleaned the apartment, she said we weren't allowed to come over unless we de-smelled ourselves. Normally I'd be offended but, to be honest, I did smell really, really bad. Anyway. My mom gave us the meat thermometer and also a roasting pan because it turns out the pan I had taken a picture of? Not so much a roasting pan as it was a broiling pan. Yeah.
FINALLY we made it back to our apartment so we could start the prime rib and also make fun of Heidi's boyfriend, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching Spongebob Squarepants. Once that was taken care of, we went to the grocery to buy such important staples as salad, garlic bread, and beer. We got back to our apartment and sat around for a while until it was time to start the baked potatoes and salad. Heidi handled the baked potatoes because that involved the microwave, and the fewer chances I have to break an appliance, the better. Then we checked the prime rib. It still wasn't done. No matter where we stuck the thermometer. OK. No problem! we said. We'd start with our salads like civilized human beings. Only the prime rib still wasn't done when we finished our salads. It wasn't even close to being done. So we turned up the temperature. Half an hour later, it still wasn't done and we were getting so hungry that when we looked at each other, we did not see human friends, we saw human-size steaks covered in delicious delicious steak sauce. Actually, I think Steve did take a bite out of Nick's arm. Don't deny it, Steve! Since it was almost 9 (!), Heidi and I made an executive decision. We were going to replace our main dish of prime rib with, wait for it . . . cheesy brauts, which are really just hot dogs all dressed up. So. Our fancy, grown-up dinner consisted of salad, baked potatoes, and hot dogs (we forgot to make the garlic bread). Which, I'll admit, is kind of lame, but it's still better than serving omelette, blue soup, and marmalade*.
And also? The prime rib, that finally finished cooking around 11, after we'd given up on learning how to play poker but before we made the terrible decision to watch SNL? Was DELICIOUS. Especially after what we had for dessert . . . which was several servings of Miller Lite. Don't judge.
*Yeah. Probably four of you got that. Sorry.
So, last weekend Heidi and I tried to make a grown-up dinner. On Saturday, we decided that instead of going out to eat like we normally do on Saturdays (and Fridays and Sundays and sometimes Thursdays), we'd cook the prime rib she'd gotten (free) from work. I wasn't exactly sure what a prime rib was . . . I mean, yeah, I knew it was meat of some sort but that was only because it was thawing all big-hulking-meat style in our sink. It didn't really look that appetizing but the picture on the packaging looked pretty delicious. Luckily, there were also directions on the package so we didn't think we could mess things up TOO much. This coming from the people who couldn't use their oven for three months because the knob was on upside-down.
Heidi: It says to cook it in a roasting pan.
Me: Do we have one of those?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Um.
Heidi: Um.
Me: Oh, wait! Is this a roasting pan?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: We don't have a meat thermometer, either.
Me: We could buy one.
Heidi: Do you think your parents have one?
Me: Oh yeah! I'll see if we can borrow theirs.
Heidi: Maybe we can ask them if this is a roasting pan, too.
Me: OK. I'll take a picture of it with my phone!
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know. I am all kinds of special.
We ventured over to visit my parents. After showering, though. Because when I told my mom that Heidi and I had worked out Friday night and not showered after and then worked out again Saturday morning and then cleaned the apartment, she said we weren't allowed to come over unless we de-smelled ourselves. Normally I'd be offended but, to be honest, I did smell really, really bad. Anyway. My mom gave us the meat thermometer and also a roasting pan because it turns out the pan I had taken a picture of? Not so much a roasting pan as it was a broiling pan. Yeah.
FINALLY we made it back to our apartment so we could start the prime rib and also make fun of Heidi's boyfriend, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching Spongebob Squarepants. Once that was taken care of, we went to the grocery to buy such important staples as salad, garlic bread, and beer. We got back to our apartment and sat around for a while until it was time to start the baked potatoes and salad. Heidi handled the baked potatoes because that involved the microwave, and the fewer chances I have to break an appliance, the better. Then we checked the prime rib. It still wasn't done. No matter where we stuck the thermometer. OK. No problem! we said. We'd start with our salads like civilized human beings. Only the prime rib still wasn't done when we finished our salads. It wasn't even close to being done. So we turned up the temperature. Half an hour later, it still wasn't done and we were getting so hungry that when we looked at each other, we did not see human friends, we saw human-size steaks covered in delicious delicious steak sauce. Actually, I think Steve did take a bite out of Nick's arm. Don't deny it, Steve! Since it was almost 9 (!), Heidi and I made an executive decision. We were going to replace our main dish of prime rib with, wait for it . . . cheesy brauts, which are really just hot dogs all dressed up. So. Our fancy, grown-up dinner consisted of salad, baked potatoes, and hot dogs (we forgot to make the garlic bread). Which, I'll admit, is kind of lame, but it's still better than serving omelette, blue soup, and marmalade*.
And also? The prime rib, that finally finished cooking around 11, after we'd given up on learning how to play poker but before we made the terrible decision to watch SNL? Was DELICIOUS. Especially after what we had for dessert . . . which was several servings of Miller Lite. Don't judge.
*Yeah. Probably four of you got that. Sorry.
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