Also, Joe doesn't believe me, but "khaleesi" is really fun to say. Khaleesi khaleesi khaleesi.

Every morning, I get to work and make myself a To Do list for the day. Or I make it the night before. Or I have stuff leftover from the previous day and THAT'S my To Do list. IT DOESN'T MATTER, my point is, I always have a To Do list of stuff. Just always.

After spending the morning doing everything BUT things actually on my list, I looked at my sad little uncrossed-off list and started adding things I'd already done just so I could cross stuff off. I wish I could tell you that this doesn't happen often but I'm trying not to be such a liar because Joe doesn't like it when I tell him stuff like, I don't know, that I speak Urdu, which is the lie I told him BEFORE WE EVEN MET because Natalie Portman taught me that lying is adorable.

I guess my point is that I don't have one, I just haven't written anything in YEARS and so this is me. Writing stuff. And throwing it all over the internet. Hi, Internet!

So here's something you may not know about, I don't know, LIFE. It turns out that if you spend all of Sunday watching Game of Thrones, the weekend goes really, really quickly. Also, here is some advice. If you're at the store because you tried to rent movies but you've A) seen all the good ones or B) don't feel like delving into the insanity that is Tree of Life on a Saturday night, and you decide instead that what you'd really rather watch is Game of Thrones so you stop getting spoiled about everything and finally figure out what the deal is with this Joffrey puke, but the library never has Game of Thrones in because everyone else wants to watch it, too, and the video store (Sidebar: Why do you call it the video store when they no longer have videos? Discuss.) never has it either or they have every disc BUT THE FIRST ONE so, yeah, obviously your only option is to buy it but when you get to the store, they only have the blu-ray version which is way more expensive (probably?), so you decide to be responsible and only get the first season instead of seasons one AND two, and I'm just here to tell you, go ahead and buy the second season while you're there, screw responsible, because what's going to happen is you'll spend Saturday night and Sunday morning watching the first season and then you'll realize you're going to run out of show before you run out of Sunday, so your husband is going to have to go out and buy the second season while you sit and fret about whether the store will still have it and so, to make yourself feel better, you sing the song you made up about Game of Thrones that goes (to the tune of the Lord of the Rings music): Game. Of. Thrones. It's the game, it's the game, it's the game, it's the game. It's the Game. Of. Thrones.

Which is a TERRIBLE song, way worse than the Doctor Who song you made up that just goes: Doctor Whoooooooooooooooo, Doctor Whoooooooooooooo, Doctor Who, Doctor Who... and so on.

So I guess my point is, now we're watching Game of Thrones, which is really cutting into my rewatching The X-Files project, but I will make that sacrifice because KHALEESI'S GOT DRAGONS Y'ALL!

sugar and spice and everything nice

This morning I had an eyelash in my eye and, though usually I can fish them out with my finger (GROSS), this one was proving to be difficult. So I took a tissue, rolled up one corner, and used that to grab the eyelash. It worked instantly and I wondered why I don't just do that right away any time I have anything in my eye which, for whatever reason, happens ALL THE TIME. My eye is a magnet for eyelashes and tiny pieces of fuzz and ONE TIME EVEN A BUG AHH YOU GUYS. But I hardly ever think of the tissue trick right away. Probably because I have to learn the same lesson at least 128 times before it sticks, but it could also be that I'm just kind of dumb, common-sense-wise.

The rolled-up-tissue trick is something I picked up from my grandma, and I think about that every time I use it. Whenever I was little and would get an eyelash in my eye, my grandma would come straight at me with a tissue and I'd cringe into the sofa, sure that it was going to hurt MUCH worse than the eyelash did, thank you, that eyelash can just live in my eye OK IT'S FINE. But it never hurt, really, and soon I'd be back to whatever I'd been doing, playing with My Little Pony or watching Punky Brewster or whatever the hell I did to fill my time when I was six. Gambling? Cigarettes? Alligator wrestling?

Much like now, I was a total whiny wuss when I was a kid, more than others, I imagine, though of course I can't really speak to that. I was a kid and kids have crap memories for that kind of thing. Though I do remember once falling down and scraping both of my knees to bloody messes and, when I went inside to tell my babysitter what had happened, she didn't believe me when I told her I hadn't cried. So maybe that tells you something. Something OTHER than the fact that my babysitter was an evil witch who used to make me drink cranberry juice every day (BARF) and always yelled at me for coloring outside the lines in my coloring books OR for coloring things unrealistic colors (like, I don't know, a purple duck).

I often wonder why I am the way I am, or why you are the way you are, or why ANYONE is they way they are. Are we born this way or are we made this way, molded into a whole person over the course of many years? Sure, it goes back to that whole nature-vs-nurture thing, and I'm sure it's a combination of both, but can't there be a more magical answer? Can't we be mixed together from birth, a concoction of thoughts and feelings and fate and WHAT-WILL-I-BE-que-sera-sera goodness? I know that's ridiculous but it's much more fun than just saying someone is a product of the environment. I mean, do I like to read because my parents provided me with all the books I asked for, or is it because the Fairy of Learned Books sprinkled fairy dust (made from bits of first drafts, forgotten ideas, and MAGIC obviously) on my head when I was born? Come on, which would you rather believe?

At the same time, I can't ignore the things I've picked up over the years from my family. Not that I'd want to. And not just the important things, either, like how to be a good person or how to get eyelashes out of your eye quickly and painlessly, but other things like the correct way to make a bed or that you should put potato chips on sandwiches. True, these things are easily Google-able now, but I like that I've learned them from watching others.

My mom is job-searching right now, which is a soul-sucking thing to have to do, as everyone knows. Yet she remains so positive about everything and doesn't give up, even after setbacks, which makes me wonder why I'm so prone to quitting things. I certainly didn't get it from either of my parents. Was I born this way? Did some jerk Laziness Fairy get to me when I was a baby? I can only imagine it was this magical fairy, this merry trickster, who whispered in my ear each night as I was sleeping that I should give up when things get too hard, to take the easy way out, to most definitely spend the majority of my time watching reruns of my favorite TV shows instead of doing anything productive. Which is a total asshole move, really, but it shouldn't be too hard to turn it around. Not now that I know about it. Still. If anyone has the Productivity Fairy's number, can you send it my way?

Who knows where thoughts come from, they just appear!

I think weird thoughts, like, all the time. And after I think these thoughts, I wonder what's wrong with me. Like, sometimes I'll be having a crazy thought and be all, "STOP THINKING THIS RIGHT NOW...WTH IS WRONG WITH YOU? STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT," like if I'm home alone and trying to go to sleep and suddenly I'm imagining someone lurking into the dark room and when I open my eyes, I know I'll see someone standing over me, swinging an axe over my head, I just know it, but can I stop thinking about it? No, I cannot. I can never stop my brain from thinking a thought it's already started thinking.

Like, every morning, since I get up first, I take Max out so his bladder doesn't explode all over the house because that would probably be messy, and I already have to clean up Phoebe's barf so I'm not cleaning up exploded bladder, too. And since I have to get up super early so my corporate overlords don't fire me, it's still dark out when I walk him. I also usually forget to put on my glasses, so everything is all blurry around the edges, but blurrier than it would normally be when I'm not wearing glasses because I'm all half asleep. And bra-less. That has nothing to do with this story, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I thought I'd share it.

ANYWAY. We're walking and it's dark and blurry and I'm stumbling over my flip flops and shivering because I'm wearing pajama pants and when did it get so cold, Ohio? And every time I hear a noise, my mind immediately goes to zombies. I don't know why. It just does. I mean, sure, I've been reading World War Z every night before bed, but I think that's irrelevant because I've had this zombie-phobia for YEARS now. So then I start imagining what I would do if a zombie ran up behind me. I'd have to protect Max, obviously, but I'd need to find a weapon and THERE ARE NO WEAPONS OUTSIDE. I'd have to rip a branch off of a tree but I'm pretty sure that by the time I managed that, the zombie would have already ripped off an ear or something. PLUS. Since everything is all no-glasses-blurry, I might not even notice that the person approaching me is a zombie until it's too late. My point is, I'm screwed if zombies attack in the morning unless I start remembering to put on my glasses before I go outside.

I have a lot of these weird (ok, crazy) thoughts while I'm walking Max. Last night, I was walking him and listening to my iPod and this little girl was playing with a giant stick in her yard. And as I passed her, I thought, "What if she hits me in the head with that stick and goes all Lord of the Flies on me or tries to steal my iPod? I'd have to kick her or something. Would I get arrested? I'd just be defending myself. But she's like 8." Luckily, I'm really short so we were almost the same height and I think the police might have let me off with just a warning.

Last week, I was walking Max at night through a neighboring neighborhood and he totally pooped in someone's bushes! When he did it, I was all, "Are you KIDDING me?" and no, he was not kidding me, but it was so dark that I couldn't find the poo to pick it up and I'm not proud of this but we had to run away. And since we did that, we couldn't walk back to our house the same way or we would have passed the scene of the crime, so I had to cut through the wooded/pond area that is TOTALLY SCARY IN THE DARK. And I kept picturing the headlines, "WOMAN DISAPPEARS FROM PARK, DOG FOUND CHASING DUCKS AT POND" and hoping that if any serial killers were roaming the woods that night, that they would stay away because of my vicious, 25 pound dog. Sigh. Or. OR! That if they attacked me, I'd like, tap into some previously unknown Slayer powers that are lying dormant inside me. IT COULD HAPPEN, SHUT UP.

Also, the other day as I was driving home from work, I wondered what I would do if I turned into some sort of fish mutant while I was driving and could no longer breathe oxygen. I'd have to just drive my car into some water, right? But, like, how would I call Joe and tell him I'd turned into a fish mutant? Do cell phones work underwater? Or would I have to drive into a lake, let the car fill up with water, and then drive home and hope the water didn't leak out during the drive? And, I don't know, live in the bathtub for the rest of my life. You have to prepare for these things, you guys, I'm serious. You'll thank me if you ever turn into a fish mutant.

speaking of Tool Time...

Today I want to talk to you guys about something very important. Something that was once very, very close to my heart.

Today I want to talk to you about...Jonathan Taylor Thomas. OH, YEEAAAAAAAAAAH. JTT 4 EVA!!1!!1!

Ahem. Jonathan Taylor Thomas was my first love, the personification of all of my tween dreams, and it's only fitting that I give him a proper send off as I will soon pledge my heart to another blah blah blah.

I fell in love with Jonathan Taylor Thomas in the early 90s, when he appeared on a little show called Home Improvement. MAYBE YOU'VE HEARD OF IT. (I don't know.) Anyway. He was perfect, in my young eyes, and I knew that if only I could meet him, we'd fall deeply in (12-year-old) love because...um, we were almost the same age? I don't know, I'm pretty sure that when I was 12, I thought that was all it took. Same age.

Whatever, the case, I was in love and obsessed. Perhaps my obsessions with The X-Files and Mr. Darcy and Pam and Jim should have come as no surprise given my love for all things JTT.

When I was in sixth grade, my bedroom walls were PLASTERED with posters and pictures from such fine periodicals as: Tiger Beat and BOP and BBOP or whatever the hell they were all called. I used to buy them all whenever my mom would take me with her to Kroger. I'd stand in the magazine aisle, digging through them, searching for the best one. They were always on the bottom shelf, lined up together, tween boy faces gazing out at me between the coloring books and the crossword puzzles.

I'd flip through each magazine unless JTT was on the cover, then (OBVIOUSLY) I'd buy that one. He usually was on the cover, right next to Jonathan Brandis (RIP), Andrew Keegan (meh), and Rider Strong (double meh). Sometimes, OH SOMETIMES, the magazine would have a giant, fold-out poster inside of it. That was like finding a pot of gold and digging through that pot of gold to find, like, CHOCOLATE-COVERED GOLD.

My love did not stop at magazines, oh no. I would tape episodes of Home Improvement, new and syndicated, so I could watch the best Randy moments (heh) over and over. My favorite was the episode where there was something wrong with Randy (like, medically) because JTT was all, "I AM AN AC-TOR," in it and I was like, whoa, dreeeeamy. Randy was always my favorite of the Taylor brothers because Brad was, well, a moron and the little one was too young for me and also kind of weird. But Randy was the smart brother and so I was IN. LOVE.

I watched The Lion King over and over because JTT was the voice of Young Simba. I saw Man of the House in the theater and whenever we'd go to Blockbuster, I'd beg my parents to rent it. IT'S SO BAD, YOU GUYS. But I loved it, mostly because of JTT but also because they were in Indian Guides in the movie and I was totally an Indian Princess when I was a kid (Jennie + JTT = MFEO). My name was Little Star. I was in the Fox tribe. I...I'm going to stop talking now.

I don't know what happened to JTT or his career (other than a random episode of Veronica Mars) but my love has obviously faded. (LUCKY FOR JOE.) But I have to admit, I will 4-EVA have a Tiger Beat fold-out poster hanging deep in my heart for Randy Taylor.

Some days I'm more afraid of zombies than others.

This is one of those days. I'm never sure what sets it off. It could be that I dreamt about zombies last night, but I don't really remember if I dreamt about zombies. I do remember that I was leading Bill Clinton through the first castle you have to beat in Zelda (Super Nintendo version), but I think that has something to do with seeing Scott Pilgrim. No idea why Bill Clinton was there. He does seem like he'd be fun to hang out with, so long as he keeps his hands to himself.

Sometimes zombie thoughts just pop into my head, zombie dreams or not. Not sure why. This morning, I was putting a signed form on the outside door so UPS would drop off my package (heh), and as I stood there, sticking the note to the door, I thought, "It's awfully quiet out here...this is the part of the zombie movie when a zombie would jump out from behind those bushes and bite my face off."

Then I heard a noise and ran back inside.

It's because mornings are so quiet, I think, that my imagination starts to run wild. Also, in a lot of zombie movies, morning is when SHIT GETS REAL. It's morning when Shaun (of the Dead) finds zombies in his backyard. In the new Dawn of the Dead, Anna Faris wakes up and there's a creepy child standing in their hallway, a creepy child who BITES HER HUSBAND'S NECK OFF. And then her husband turns into a zombie right in front of her and tries to eat her and she has to shimmy out the bathroom window and run to her car and luckily her car keys were on the nightstand so she can, you know, drive away but WHO REALLY DOES THAT? Who keeps their car keys in the bedroom? Do you guys? I guess I need to start keeping my car keys on the nightstand but we don't HAVE a window in the bathroom so if I get stuck in there, I'm screwed. There aren't even any good weapons in there.

The mornings when I don't see anyone outside are the worst. Usually, at some point, I'll see or hear a neighbor go out to their car or walk their dog and I think, "OK, there probably wasn't a zombie apocalypse last night." But if I don't see anyone? Then I just don't know. I think, what if all the neighbors are zombies now and they're just hiding in dark places until my brain gets close enough for them to eat it? WHAT THEN? CONSTANT VIGILANCE, that's the only answer.

This morning I didn't see anyone outside the whole time I was getting ready. So I knew that a zombie apocalypse was totally possible. Obviously. LOGIC. I was kind of terrified to go out to my car, now that it's in the garage. For a long time, our garage was full of random crap so there was no room for my car, but NO MORE. I had to walk down a long, creepy hallway to another hallway to the dark garage and as I reached through the door to hit the "open garage door" button so the light would come on, I imagined one of those rage zombies from 28 Days Later sprinting out from a dark corner and BITING MY HAND OFF and I'm not kidding, you guys, I might have whimpered a little.

It's seriously exhausting being in my head sometimes. Especially on zombie days.

i'm sensitive and i'd like to stay that way

Yeah, I just quoted Jewel. So? I loved the shit out of Jewel in high school. What, I can have layers.

My point is this: I don't have one. But seriously, folks, I know I say a lot that I'm a robot with no feelings but for a robot with no feelings, I can get awful weepy sometimes.

So we picked out our songs for the weddings, right? You know the ones. The first dance and father/daughter and mother/son songs. TRADITION. Or whatever. Joe hasn't picked out the mother/son song yet. It's really hard (twss) to pick out songs for the father/daughter and mother/son dances that don't sound kind of creepy and really inappropriate. Anyway, since I'm the weepy type, I'm a little worried that I will spend most of the wedding day fighting off tears. I'm trying to combat this by listening to the first dance and father/daughter songs over and over to desensitize myself to them. I just started this project and so far it's not really working, which is why I almost started crying in the car this morning while listening to the father/daughter song and then I was all, "Suck it up, Baxla, PLAY LIKE A CHAMPION."

In other wedding news, the fake mustaches were delivered yesterday. It was actually a pretty good mail day. Joe got some toys, I got the mustaches and a bag of 400 Scrabble tiles (don't ask), we got some more RSVPs, and our first wedding present. Wheeeeeeeee! Anyway, I was so, so excited for the mustaches, you guys, and they look SO GOOD. I sort of hope not everyone takes one at the reception so there are some leftover and I can keep them and take them to parties and people will be like, "who is that sassy girl with the mustache?" and I'll be like, "it's me, bitches!" only not really because that's not very nice. Anyway. When Joe got home, I greeted him at the door like THIS which is probably kind of scary to see first thing when you walk through the door but oh well. And then this happened:

Me: I took a picture of myself with a fake mustache and put it on Facebook!
Joe: Haha, nice.
Me: It's pretty much the first thing I did after I opened the box.
Joe: Well, of course.
Me: I mean, what else would a perso do?
Joe: It's true, I think the order goes: get fake mustache, find camera, take picture, Facebook.
Me: Truth.

I don't think it happened exactly like that but I can't remember. Can you blame me? My brain is all fuzzy from fake mustache joy.

paul is dead

Every time I take a road trip, I think of this movie I saw when I was a kid. I have no idea what the movie was and, based on the only part I remember, I'm pretty sure that I should not have been watching it at such a young age.

The part I remember is of this family in a car and they're stuck in a traffic jam. At night. Of course it's at night. Anyway, there are two or three little girls sitting in the backseat and the one sitting in the middle is asleep. The other little girl(s) are all giggly and play a prank on the sleeping girl by tying her shoelaces together.

Well, then they get in a terrible car accident and the sleeping girl (whose name might have been Jennifer, now that I think about it) can't get out of the car in time (because of her shoelaces being tied together) and the car like explodes and she dies, and the other little girl feels guilty forever the end.

See? Traumatic, right? To this day, I don't take my shoes off in the car (unless they're flip flops) because what if we get in a horrible car accident and I can't leave the car because I don't have shoes on? This makes no sense, I know, because duh, Jennie, get out of the car barefoot but WHAT IF IT'S WINTER? My feet will fall off.

Other movies I saw as a child that traumatized me forever:

Gremlins: For years I was convinced that Gremlins lived under my bed but only at night. If I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I'd stand in the middle of my bed and jump as far into the room as I could because I imagined if I put my feet on the ground right by the bed, little Gremlin claws would grab my ankles and pull me under.

Cat's Eye: In which a young Drew Barrymore is terrorized by a gremlin in her sleep. Um. Yeah. So, Drew Barrymore gets a cat and her mom hates cats because I guess her mom is a giant bitch who doesn't like fun because have you ever seen a cat chase its tail? Comedy gold. Anyway, so she doesn't want Drew to have a cat because cats steal your breath when you're asleep. Drew's mom is crazy. Drew isn't allowed to have the cat in her bedroom at night because OBVIOUSLY the cat will steal her breath while she's sleeping OH OF COURSE YOU CRAZY MOTHER. But wait! Guess what happens? This little gremlin burrows into her room each night. He has tiny armor and a tiny sword because...sure, of course. And guess what he does? HE STEALS DREW'S BREATH WHILE SHE'S ASLEEP. Well, the cat won't stand for that so he breaks into the room and fights the gremlin. All I remember is that the gremlin had scary teeth and poked the cat with his sword and hurt that cat and I was like, "oh hell no, I'm out."

Twilight Zone THERE'S SOMETHING ON THE WING OF THE PLANE!: When I saw this, I had never been on a plane. I was terrified to get on a plane and TO THIS DAY, the first thing I think when I fly anywhere is, "I hope there's not a weird gremlin thing that effs up our plane." Which I think is totally valid even without having seen this Twilight Zone.

The Gate: You guys. This is the scariest movie I ever saw as a child. It might be the scariest movie I've ever seen EVER only I don't remember because I haven't seen it since I was like 8. WHO LET ME WATCH THIS? What happens is, these kids are allowed to stay home alone while their parents are on vacation. That never ends well. So of course, they play records backwards to see if they can hear Satan and they also dig a big hole in the backyard...for a pool or something. They put a gate over the hole (OK?) but it's too late! The combination of the backwards-record and the hole to hell (Hellmouth?) makes all these scary gremlin-demons come out and they are so creepy. They're little, but there's a lot of them, so they can totally eff you up. Also, there's this part where one of the kids has an eye growing in the middle of the palm of his hand and he stabs it with a piece of glass. Again, I ask, WHO LET ME WATCH THIS?

Apparently gremlins were as terrifying to me as a child as zombies are to me now. Good to know.

QUESTION: What kind of bear is best?

On any given day, my job pretty much sucks. I try to remind myself that it could suck harder (twss) but on days when I do nothing but stare at I-9s (don't ask) or hear that Joe's company is giving away Kindles or iPhones or $50 Amazon cards FOR NO RAISIN, I get a little stabby.

And these are the days that I am so happy that Google Reader exists. I subscribe to about a billion things, meaning that at any point of the day, I can go there and be entertained. I like to think of it as a physical place, sort of like what The Commons was like at Wittenberg. Between classes, you could stop by and grab a cyberwrap (Chipotle-sized, customizable burritos) or a tiny pizza, and catch up with whoever happened to be there at the time. Wittenberg was a tiny school, so the chances that you would run into someone you knew were pretty good.

That's what Google Reader is like. There's some activity going on at pretty much any point of the day. Someone is sharing something, or there's a new Harry Potter read-a-long post to read, or there's an important conversation going on in the comments. A conversation like: what kind of pop-tart is best? (answer: anything frosted.) Or: what are your thoughts on donuts/bagels? (cake donuts, give me all the bagels.) Or: could James Franco be more crazy awesome? (No.)

When I think back to the early days of the internet, I am appalled at how low tech my blog/website reading was. I put my favorite blogs and websites on the sidebar of my own blog and I'd click on each one individually when I got bored to see if anything had been updated. LIKE AN ANIMAL.

Google Reader, though, Google Reader makes sure I don't miss anything and I don't have to do any work at all, really. I am being for serious, you guys, when I tell you that some days, I could not make it until 5 without my Greader. It is my precious and I wants it GIVE US THE PRECIOUS.

a glimpse

Last night, Joe and I made quesadillas for dinner but really they were more like tostadas, if I'm being completely honest. And I might as well be completely honest because why lie about quesadillas? If you can't be honest about quesadillas, what CAN you be honest about?

I took them out of the oven and we transferred them to plates so we could cut them into fourths. Because that makes it easier to eat with your hands and why wouldn't you want to eat with your hands? Why are you so fancy? Who are you trying to impress? Plus, eating with your hands is awesome. Anyway, since he is a gentleman, Joe started cutting my quesadilla before his and then this happened:

Me: NOOOO! STOP! You're cutting it wrong!
Joe: ...what?
Me: If you make them the same size, how will I know which one to eat first*?!

And that's when Joe started pounding his head on the cabinet (for real) and laughing at me and I was all, "...I'm mostly kidding," and he was like, "IT'S THE MOSTLY THAT WORRIES ME," and this is what it's like to live with me, right, Heidi?

*If I cut stuff in half (or fourths, whatever), I have to cut them in different sizes because I have to eat the smallest piece first OBVIOUSLY. Shut up.

Are you there, internet? It's me, Jennie

I find that sometimes I don't write in here because I feel like I tell you guys the same things over and over. Like, haha, the other day I said something stupid and everyone made fun of me (true)! Or, I spent all of Saturday watching season 2 of Buffy (also true). Or even, JENNIE LOVE DUCKS (truest of all). I'm pretty sure I've even used the title of this post before. And I'm pretty sure I've SAID I'm pretty sure I've used the title of this post before AHHHH OMG meta tornado save the ducklings!

So that's why I don't post sometimes. It's not because I don't love you guys. In fact, it's just the opposite. I love you TOO much, so much that I've pitched a tent on your front lawn and spelled "I LUV U" in a gasoline-fire in the grass and now I'm standing there with my boombox blaring some Peter Gabriel and WHY WON'T YOU COME OUTSIDE AND TALK TO ME. Or at least let me in to use the bathroom.

Now let me tell you about my weekend, in which I said some stupid shit, spent most of my days watching Buffy, and then talked about how much I love ducks. ZING!

But yeah, you know what? I do love ducks. And you know what else? I went for the best run ever yesterday and you want to know why? Hardly anyone was in my park.

Here's what, internet. A week or so after Joe and I moved to the new place, I went for a run to make sure we'd moved to a running-friendly neighborhood. Because where I lived last year? Not so running-friendly, unless I wanted to drive somewhere else to run which seems wrong in some way, don't you think? Anyway, so I decided to go run around this one pond but then I discovered that there was no path around the pond! Which would be fine, if I wanted to run through goose turds but I didn't want to run through goose turds so I just kept going on the sidewalk because I wanted to see where the sidewalk ends (Shel Silverstein FTW!) and you know where it ended? In a park. An awesome park with lots of trees and a nice running path and a community garden (I think?) and geeses and duckses and frogs, oh my! No lie, you guys, I ran around that park with a big, stupid smile on my face and when I got home I was all, "JOE! I FOUND A PARK! And it was awesome! I saw some ducks! And geese! And a frog! Well, I HEARD a frog! Also, guess what?! I saw an albino squirrel! It looked at me!" because I am five, apparently. And also Dug from Up.

So now that is my park. I get very angry whenever I go there and someone else is using it. Effing hell, man, GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I SICK MY GEESE-GANG ON YOU! You don't want to mess with my geese-gang. Nesting makes them loco.

I don't know where this park came from because it wasn't always there and it looks pretty new and they keep updating it with cool stuff. Like, last night I discovered that they had put in these little information boxes and you could push buttons and some nice lady would tell you all about crayfish and maple trees and stuff. Not like, crayfish IN maple trees because that would be weird. It's an awesome park but it's not a magic park. That I know of. I will keep you all updated.

Of all the Liz Lemons in the world, you're the Liz Lemoniest.

The date of my 10 year high school reunion was announced yesterday. I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, it seems super awkward to go hang out at a bar with people I haven't seen in ten years, people I only interact with on Facebook, and people who call me Jennifer like that's perfectly normal. On the other hand, it is at a bar and it seems like the majority of my Facebook HS friends have grown into people I might like to hang out with, so who knows?

I didn't have a bad high school experience, just a long one, you know? Like I was waiting and waiting to get out of there already so my real (read: fun) life could finally start rocking my face off. Which it did. I've never missed high school, I don't have any particularly nostalgic feelings toward my high school experiences, and if I want to hang out with anyone I went to high school with, I could message them on Facebook THUS IS THE POWER OF THE INTERNET. I actually don't have many lasting memories from my high school years, which leads me to believe they must not have been that bad. Surely not as bad as one of my classmates, who left the following comment on the event invite: Goddamn why wouldn't I want to see a bunch of people that I A.)never knew, B.)never liked, C.)never liked me... This sounds AWESOME!

Yeesh. Although...I see his point SUCH IS MY DILEMMA.

I don't know if I'm going to go yet. It's about a month before my wedding so I could always play the "too busy" card. Or, you know, that might be a good weekend for something bachelorette-party-like. What I'm saying is, I'm planning my escape should the Attending list get too scary.

My main source of concern is that ever since I saw that episode of 30 Rock where Liz Lemon goes to her high school reunion and discovers she had unintentionally been terrorizing her classmates all through high school, I've been terrified that I did the same thing and I'll go to my reunion and EVERYONE WILL HATE ON ME and there is just not enough alcohol in the world to battle that.

Blerg.

this is what happens when you feed yourself nothing but caffeine and junk food for a week straight

Guess what, y'all? Yes, I just said y'all. Sometimes I pretend I'm from the South because accents are fun. Anyway, guess what? I'M MOVING TOMORROW. I keep switching from rabid excitement that I get to live with Joe (JEALOUS?) and crippling sadness that Heidi and I won't be roommates anymore (SAD FACE) and it's exhausting, y'all. EXHAUSTING. I'm so tired! It's making me not make much sense. I will show you. Here is an excerpt from the email I sent Joe this morning:

I'm just responding to your email from yesterday because I'm lazy, that's why! Hee. I've had a tense morning so far. I got up late (naturally) so I was running late (what is wrong with me?) and then I couldn't find my badge in my purse. So I was freaking out because I need it to get into the parking lot AND the building. Anyway, I grabbed my coat on the way out the door as an afterthought, because it was already pretty warm out, and good thing I did because about halfway to work, I thought, "Hmm, I wonder if I put my badge in my coat pocket yesterday at work," and wouldn't you know it? I did. Whew. Crisis averted. But then I got an eyelash in my eye! While I was driving! And I couldn't get it out! Because of the driving! It was so dangerous. Don't worry, though, when I got to work, I got it out. With a twisted up corner of a tissue because I AM A GENIUS. Also, that's what my grandma used to do when I'd get an eyelash in my eye when I was little. Which happened a lot for some reason. And she'd come at me with the tissue and I'd freak out like she was trying to get the eyelash out with a machete instead of a tissue. I was a little pussy when I was a kid.

It's true, though, I was totally a little pussy when I was a kid. There is video evidence. I graduated from Safety Village when I was 5. Did you guys have Safety Village? Safety Village was so awesome, you guys, way better than Oregon Trail even. Basically, you learned about traffic lights and how to cross the street safely and I know that sounds boring but this one day they brought in a real life traffic light and put it on a desk and we got to play with it. It was bigger than I am now, I'm pretty sure.

But the best part was the actual SAFETY VILLAGE that was outside on the playground. Like, it was this tiny city with crosswalks and streets and sidewalks and it was all little child sized. AND THERE WERE CARS! Little cars you could drive around the tiny village! I mean, they didn't have little engines, they were like Flintstones cars and you had to propel them forward with your feet but WHO CARES it was still awesome because the difference between me and the Flintstones is that (most of the time) I wear shoes.

Anyway, the video evidence was from my Safety Village graduation, and my mom was recording me looking both ways before crossing the tiny fake streets because that is obviously something you want to document. What if you're at a job interview someday and they're all, "she's great, but can she obey traffic laws?" and then you can be like, "BOOM! Check this shit out, btw, do you have a VCR up in this bitch?" and then they'll hire you in spite of the cursing because you are SO GOOD at looking both ways and that's what this country needs right now! People who can look both ways, not just ONLY left or ONLY right. See what I did there?

OK, now that we've covered how to ace an interview, let's move on. So I finished crossing all the streets in the village and decided to get in one of the little cars. But as I was waiting my turn some other kid raced right in front of me and got in my car! That's when I started crying and my mom was all, "Jenny (cause that's how I spelled my name back then), there's another car right there." I'm a little ashamed that my reaction at that time was to run away crying to my mommy (um, Jennie, you were 5) but I guess it taught me a valuable lesson about standing up for yourself because now if that happened I'd straight up PUNCH THAT LITTLE KID IN THE FACE.

Confession Tuesday: (look, I remembered!)

Back in January, Joe and I had this conversation:

Joe: Did you know Vampire Weekend is coming to Ohio?
Me: NO, WHEN IS IT?!?
Joe: Oh, well, it's sold out.
Me: NOOOOOOOOOO!

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago:

Joe: Can I tell you what I got you for your birthday?
Me: No, I want to be surprised.
Joe: ...please?
Me: I guess. If you really want to.
Joe: Remember how Vampire Weekend was sold out?
Me: ...yes.
Joe: Well, I found tickets.
Me: AHHHHHHHH!!!!

So last night, Joe and I went to see Vampire Weekend because the responsible thing to do four days before moving is to go to a concert. But whatever, it was awesome. It made me want to bop around or run around in circles like a tiny, yappy dog. In fact, there is a certain part of Mansard Roof that makes me want to twirl around in circles with my arms stretched out and when I told Joe, he told me I should do it but I didn't want to smack anyone in the head because that would ruin their concert experience, which really wouldn't be fair because they probably paid good money for the concert unless they were like me and had someone awesome buy them the tickets for their birthday.

This brings me to my confession and that confession is: The only reason I listen to any good music is because either Kat or Joe told me to listen to it. Truth!

What do you want to confess today, Internets? Come on. Get it off your chest.

Know what else? I had a bison burger for the first time last night. It was so delicious. I'm not sure if it was more delicious than most hamburgers I've had because of the restaurant or because it was bison, but I don't really care. It was a bit weird to be eating bison, though. I don't know why. I sort of felt like I was on the Oregon Trail and I'd shot some bison during a hunting expedition and was enjoying the fruits (meats?) of my labor. Although, usually when I played Oregon Trail, all I ever shot were squirrels and then I died of cholera. Not cool. Anyway. I think what I'm saying is, last night was way better than shooting squirrels and dying of cholera.

this is my confession

Hey, guess what! I'm going to rip off about a million other bloggers and declare it Confession Tuesday! And maybe I'll remember to do this next week, and every Tuesday will be Confession Tuesday and we can all discover how weird we are! Funsies!

My confession is pretty lame today, but whatever, here it is:

Today on the way back from lunch, I drove around the building complex for an extra few minutes because that Beyonce Single Ladies song came on the radio, and if it's the last song I hear before I get out of the car then it is stuck in my head for the rest of eternity. So I drove around until it was over and a new song came on, but it didn't work because it's still stuck in my head and it's really catchy and also makes me want to sing it out loud but I can't do that because I have a gajillion conference calls today and they don't take kindly to singing pop hits on conference calls (showtunes are OK, though) and I don't want to start singing and have someone be all, "Imma let you finish, but Frank from Finance had the best conference call interruption OF ALL TIME," because how embarrassing would that be? Totally embarrassing.

On a similar note, I kind of want to learn the Single Ladies dance so if the opportunity presents itself, I can impress everyone by knowing it. This is also why I want to learn the Thriller dance. Usually I just fake knowing it but THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

OK, then, Internets, please confess yourself.

all work and no play makes jennie something something

I am someone who thrives on routine. I'm a planner and my secret power lies in my To Do list. I love To Do lists SO MUCH. LOVE. THEM. I make them all the time and it comes in handy that I also have a notebook-buying problem. I love little notebooks and I keep one in my purse at all times, sometimes for grocery lists, sometimes to write ideas down, but mostly for To Do lists.

The past couple of weeks have been crazy times ten, and I don't really know why, other than I've been super busy, snow keeps throwing off my schedule, and I'm wedding planning and we've been looking for a place to live AT THE SAME TIME. The living arrangements, I believe, are almost sorted out and honestly I haven't done much in the way of wedding planning except look at things online. Seriously, the wedding business may be crazypants, but it has really opened up a whole new avenue of procrastination. It's amazing.

This is not to say that I haven't been productive, oh no it does not.

Sidenote: Joe and I watched The Land Before Time a couple of weeks ago, because he'd never seen it. Can you believe that? The Land Before Time was one of my favorite movies when I was a kid. My grandma had it on Laserdisc (!) and I probably watched it about 500 bajillion times. I was surprised at how sad it was on this viewing, and how short. Also, Sharp Tooth is SCAAAARY! Anyway, my point is (I have one!), that ever since we watched it, I keep talking like Ducky which I guess is OK because as we were watching the movie and Ducky kept babbling at everyone, Joe was all, "omg, YOU ARE DUCKY," which...true story. What were we talking about?

Oh right. Productivity. So you know how I have every other Friday off, right? Well, I do. On my last Friday off, I decided to go through my stuff to see if I had anything to give to Goodwill because I ALWAYS have something to give to Goodwill. Always. Even if I just took them a bunch of crap, I can always find more stuff to get rid of. I'm trying to stop this vicious cycle by limiting how much new stuff I buy. So far, so good.

Last Friday, I got up, ate some breakfast, and got to work. I went room by room, starting with the kitchen because it was the easiest and moving on to the dining room because it had become the home for everything we didn't know what to do with. I moved quickly to the living room and upstairs to my bathroom and bedroom, and I think I freaked Phoebe out with my Monica Geller cleaning mania, because she spent most of the time in the closet hiding between my clothes with her face to the wall. She is not going to be happy in about a month when it's time to move again.

Also! A while ago, Joe and I had a friend take some pictures for our Save the Dates, which turned out super awesome but have yet to be sent because we were going back and forth about fonts. That's right, fonts. I was fine with this, because playing with fonts is totally fun SHUT UP it is. Then last weekend we went on a fruitless apartment hunt that ended with us looking at my grandma's old condo after going to dinner with my very lovely family and it was such a long day that when we got home, we turned on the Olympics, Joe pulled up the last Save the Date font we'd been talking about and I was all, "THAT ONE! For the love of god, THAT ONE I DON'T CARE ANYMORE BLAAAARG."

Right. So. I guess what I'm trying to say is things have been busy and I forgot to add blogging to my To Do list. I will rectify this immediately. Heh. RECTify.

(i don't know)

buzzzzzzzzed

Hey so guess what? This morning I was really tired because I stayed up to watch Lost last night, which is obviously past my bedtime because I get up before THE SUN. Way before the sun! The sun is such a slacker compared to me! I should get the sun's job and also the sun's salary, which I bet is a lot because that's a tough job most days, you know? Not on cloudy days, because the clouds are covering for you (badumBUM) so you can sit back and watch old Grey's Anatomy reruns on your TiVo and that reminds me that the other day I was watching Grey's Anatomy reruns (on TiVo) and it was the one where George and Izzy had sex which is gross and wrong because George was married and Izzy is some evil combination of a succubus and a banshee straight out of hell. I'm pretty sure that's when I sort of stopped watching that show, was during the whole George/Izzy affair, and I COMPLETELY stopped watching the show after someone got a poop transplant and the interns operated on another intern and Izzy started having sex with dead-Denny.

My point is, I had coffee this morning because I was really tired and that's why I'm not making sense, because I haven't had coffee (or any caffeine, really) in at least two or three months because I gave it up after it started giving me really bad heartburn because I didn't like feeling like my heart was on fire. That's a weird feeling, right? I was trying to explain heartburn to Joe, because he said he's never had it, and I was just like, "it feels like your heart...is burning," and he was all, "wow, that's helpful," and I said, "shut up, I'll set your heart on fire and see how you like it!" and we have a healthy relationship, yes? Yes.

So I drank a cup of coffee, and when it started kicking in, I thought, "oooooh, YEEESSSSS, that's the stuff...how I've missed you, evil caffeine mistress," because I was SO AWAKE and being really productive but then there was like too much caffeine in my blood because I was jittering all over the place.

I still haven't come down and all I want to do (is have some fun) is run around the building a few times but it's cold outside and sort of muddy and I think someone would call security if they saw me scrambling over fence like a rabid monkey. So instead I'll tell you all about my life since the last time we talked, which has been a while and that's tragic and unfair because I love you guys, I do, and we should talk more often. It's my fault, though. I'm neglectful, which is why I don't have kids yet.

You guys know how I'm in this Biggest Loser competition? Well, we have to weigh in on Saturday and I'm so nervous because I couldn't work out much last week because I was sick so I'm trying to make up for it this week. Anyway, I was in 7th place (out of 21) at the last weigh in and I really want to win because the prize is $210 dollars, which would be really helpful for the wedding because weddings are expensive even if you don't buy stupid crap that nobody cares about. So every time I don't feel like working out (which is, um, always), I just think of how nice my bank account would look with an extra $200 in it and that usually works.

Also, work has been crazy busy and stressing me out because I have approximately 10 million conference calls a week OK not really, but it is a lot. So many that my boss told me to order a headset so I don't have to hold the phone to my ear for an hour and a half because that makes my ear hurt, which is not something I ever would have considered, and so I'll order a headset and be safe. I don't want to have to go to the doctor and be all, "my ear is broken" and the doctor will be like, "why?" and I'll say, "conference calls" and the doctor will push me down and call me a whiny baby because who breaks their ear like that? Whiny babies, that's who.

week of Mondays

YOU GUYS. Just when I thought it was safe to go back to blogging, WORK ATE MY SOUL. And not in a good way, either. Although, it's not like there's a GOOD way to have your soul eaten. You totally need your soul, otherwise you can't love things or enjoy fine cooking. It's true. They're all totally connected, just like Connect Four. Yeah, whatever.

Yesterday, I came into work and could not get into Outlook, meaning that the millions upon millions of emails I get every day were going UNREAD and since I wasn't answering emails people were calling me and since I hate talking on the phone, I wanted to curl into the fetal position under my desk until everyone just left me all alone to cry in peace. That never happened, though. You'd think not having access to my email would mean I couldn't get any work done, but you'd be wrong. Next time, I hope my entire computer has the decency to stop working because then I'd have an excuse to be napping at my desk. I'M JUST KIDDING, UNIVERSE, PLEASE DON'T BREAK MY COMPUTER! Seriously. How would I farm if my computer breaks? You know, if you didn't know about the internet, that last sentence would be SO CONFUSING.

Anyway. This morning, my email STILL wasn't working, so I called the IT Helpdesk for the third time and was all, "wtf, mate?" and the guy was all, "um...I don't know," and I was all, "NO, SERIOUSLY, WTF, MATE?" and he said it was a local problem and then I started yelling about how my ACTUAL DESK was more helpful than the IT Helpdesk and I think he quietly hung up on me while I was screeching at him but I don't care because I felt better afterward. I managed to nab a local IT person as she was walking by and she fixed it in like thirty seconds. I could try to explain to you why I have to call and speak to someone at the IT Helpdesk who is usually not even in the same timezone as me INSTEAD of just going directly to local IT, but I like you guys and I don't want your heads to explode.

At some point, in the midst of my email turmoil, I found out that our benefits person had to have an emergency appendectomy last night and will be out for, oh, who knows how long and did I mention that Open Enrollment is next week? Because Open Enrollment is next week. I hate Open Enrollment, you guys. Our benefits are all outsourced now, which you'd think would make things easier, but no one actually READS the benefits information they're given so instead of calling the ever-so-helpful 1-800 number or going to the informational website, they call and ask us what plan they should enroll in and GUESS WHAT we can't tell you what plan to enroll in, LEARN TO READ, A-HOLE. But I can't yell those things at employees because we're supposed to hold their hands and be helpful but I DON'T WANT TO because if I have to do any more fake smiling, I think my face is going to crack in half and I NEED MY FACE, YOU GUYS.

I keep thinking it's Friday but it's not, you know? It's totally Thursday, which is not Friday but I want it to be Friday why can't it be Friday? Because if today was Friday, I could go to Joe's soon and play with his Wii (hahahahaha, that will never get old) and then the next day would be Saturday which means SLEEPING IN. But no, it's not Friday, and I have two more hours of not-Friday before I can go home and put my pajamas on and finish the book I've been trying to finish ALL WEEK but this week of Mondays wouldn't let me.

I swear, if Pam and Jim weren't getting married tonight, this whole week would have been a complete waste.

and you CAN make wine from dandelions, HEIDI*

Joe and I have dumb fights, Part 1:

Me: I wish I had a baby elephant...
Joe: This should be good.
Me: Because! I could train it and then...ride it...to work.
Joe: OK?
Me: I would feed it bananas.
Joe: ...
Me: And whiskey. Elephants like whiskey.
Joe: You can't ride a drunk elephant to work. You'd get pulled over for drunk driving.
Me: Nuh-uh, because the elephant is drunk, I'M not drunk.
Joe: But the elephant is driving.
Me: No, because I'm steering the elephant so it doesn't matter how much whiskey it had.
Joe: ...that makes no sense.
Me: BESIDES, I wouldn't give the elephant enough whiskey to get it drunk. Just enough to give it a little buzz.
Joe: Oh, so you'll be riding a buzzed elephant to work, that's so much better.
Me: Why don't you want the elephant to be happy?
Joe: I don't even think elephants like whiskey.
Me: Yes, they do, I read it in this book. This elephant in the circus used to steal whiskey. And watermelons.
Joe: Yeah, like everything you read in a book is real.
Me: WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?

Joe and I have dumb fights, part two:

Me: It was really hard to write today.
Joe: Oh yeah?
Me: I can see why so many writers are alcoholics and drug addicts, because it's way easier to write when you've had something to drink. Cause you don't care if what you're writing is any good.
Joe: So are you gonna start doing drugs?
Me: No. I'm just saying. Lots of writers are drug addicts and alcoholics.
Joe: True. Hunter S. Thompson.
Me: Stephen King.
Joe: Beverly Cleary.
Me: Yes! I mean, a mouse riding a motorcycle? COME ON, BEVERLY.
Joe: And Ramona? She's crazy. And who has a sister named Beezus?
Me: YOU SHUT UP, RAMONA CALLED HER SISTER BEEZUS BECAUSE SHE COULDN'T SAY BEATRICE!
Joe: Yikes.

*see here and HERE

I do da cha cha like a sissy girl. I like-a...do da cha cha.

Yesterday I went sort of crazy with cleaning the apartment. It was totally unintentional, too. I meant to do NOTHING yesterday. Absolutely nothing. It started out well enough. I got up relatively early, made some coffee, ate some breakfast, finished my book, and then BOOM...The Crazy kicked in.

Only not really. Really, I was just going to wash my sheets and change my bed. Easy. But once I'd stripped the bed and thrown the dirty sheets in the washer, I was out of control. I was running all over the apartment, downstairs to get the Windex, upstairs to clean my bathroom, downstairs to get the vacuum, upstairs to clean the litter box, and then suddenly I was trying my best not to fall down the stairs while I vacuumed them because did you know? Our vacuum is surprisingly heavy. And, you know, once I'd finished cleaning upstairs and vacuuming down the stairs, I figured I might as well clean the kitchen floor and take out all the trash and vacuum the downstairs and SWEEP THE PORCH. WTF? Sweep the porch? It did no good. It's just as dirty this morning as it was before I swept it, but right after? It was a thing of beauty.

Anyway, I blame this obsessive bout of cleaning on the psychological trauma I suffered Saturday night. I was sitting on the sofa, talking to Joe on the phone, when I noticed a creepy bug crawling on the wall next to me. I thought about killing it, but it was the same kind of creepy bug that attacked Heidi and I that one time and I didn't want to risk it.

SO! There I am, sitting on the sofa, watching the bug and watching PHOEBE watch the bug, and giving Joe a play-by-play (he's so lucky). I was all, "it's crawling higher...Phoebe thinks she can reach it, but she can't...now it's trying to crawl on the ceiling...now it's on the ceiling...OH MY GOD IT JUST FELL OFF THE CEILING ON THE COUCH RIGHT NEXT TO ME OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD," and this is when I ran to the bathroom to get some toilet paper to KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT but you guys! IT CRAWLED INTO THE SOFA! IN BETWEEN THE CUSHIONS! And I kept freaking out and Joe was telling me to calm down and I was yelling at home for being in San Diego and not protecting me from the KILLER BUG THAT WAS TRYING TO KILL ME, KILL ME DEAD! And then I told him I was never, ever sitting on that couch again and he laughed at me but GUESS WHAT, I did not sit on that sofa at all yesterday SO THERE.

And then Joe was not sympathetic AT ALL about my brush with death. I believe his exact words were, "I cannot believe that you, a grown woman, just had a massive meltdown because of a tiny bug," and I was all, "whatever, you didn't see it, IT WAS HUGE AND HAD FANGS!" and then he didn't believe me when I told him it was two inches long, like bugs in Ohio can't be that big or something. But they can be that big because I saw one and it crawled into the couch and again I say SO THERE.

oh, right, I have a blog

I have two Big Problems. I want everything to be perfect ALL THE TIME and I procrastinate, um, a lot. The combination means I don't ever get anything done. Because NEWSFLASH nothing can ever be perfectly perfect all the perfect time. Duh. This is like, common knowledge, right? And if something isn't going to be perfect, why even bother DOING it?

Earlier someone asked me for a report. Except...not really. They did not ask for a report. They asked for A NUMBER. Their exact words were, "Can you tell me the percentage of employees blah blah blah...doesn't have to be perfect, I just need an estimate." And I was all, "OMG, I can't believe someone is finally asking me to do something! Hooray!" So instead of procrastinating, I did it right away! Even though it was lunchtime! Unfortunately, instead of just estimating the answer off of data I've already compiled (because that data is OLD, duh, and no longer perfect), I took it upon myself to make it a much bigger project than it needed to be and suddenly there were reports and spreadsheets ALL OVER MY COMPUTER AND THE NUMBERS WEREN'T ADDING UP AND THE PERSON WAS EMAILING ME ALL, "NO SRSLY, THIS DOES NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT, DO YOU HAVE IT YET?" AND I WAS ALL, "THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME I NEVER HAVE TIME TO STUDY OMG SHUT UP JESSIE SPANO." PLUS ALSO my other coworker was trying to talk to me and carrying on a conversation with her is like a never-ending "Who's on First" routine, so concentrating was OUT OF THE QUESTION.

Ahem. I eventually finished it without procrastinating AT ALL (!!) and it was perfect (!!) and I sent it away and got what I wanted: validation in the form of a "YOU'RE AWESOME, THANK YOU!" email. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Anyway, my point is, SUCK IT, BIG PROBLEMS. If we were in prison, you guys would be, like, my bitches*.

*thank you, Phoebe