deja vu, forever and ever amen

I've been reflecting recently (and by recently I mean CONSTANTLY) on the passage of time and how it's so slow but also fast which is, though not an original thought (not even a little), totally weird. We just hired someone born in 1994 and, as I was going over her paperwork, I thought, "wait...1994...she's not old enough to work here" because in my head, someone who was born in 1993 should still be in high school BUT NO. She's definitely old enough to work here or there or EVERYWHERE, except as POTUS but who really wants that job anyway?

It was one of many small moments that seem to sneak up on me more and more often, moments when I realize that not only am I not as young as I once was, but that everyone around me is getting older, too. This is not an "oh, woe is me, I'm so OLD" post, not at all, because I don't feel that old (unless, of course, I'm at a career fair at my alma mater because GOOD LORD was that an ongoing revelation that I'm not 20 anymore and THANK YOU BABY JESUS FOR THAT), but I do feel OLDER.

Joe and I went to trivia at a local bar last week, which was great (YOU GUYS, DISNEY TRIVIA) but we were maybe the oldest ones there? I think? We were definitely on the older end of the spectrum, which has been happening more and more frequently, especially at bars, which maybe means we're going to the wrong bars BUT I LIKE THOSE BARS so I'm going to keep going, probably. I don't know. I think it's OK. We're not those people who still hang out at college bars, doing shots until 2am because we want to relive our glory days, no, we're the couple sitting quietly at a table in the corner, nursing beers until the band starts, which I think is better, and not only because when I do shots now, I want to die the next day.

My friends are all getting married and buying houses and having babies and I feel like I talk about this a lot (because I do) but it's just so WEIRD that we're all allowed to be doing any these things. Who would put any of us in charge of another living creature? Crazy people, that's who. But it's happening more and more and those of us who used to drink until 5am AND THEN take a case of beer to Lake Michigan so we could watch the sunrise are now either pregnant (MARY, AHH!) or would rather stay home and watch Lord of the Rings instead of going out to a bar (me, duh). And it's fine! It's more than fine, really, it's natural and good and BARS ARE SO LOUD SOMETIMES. But sometimes I miss the people we all used to be, if that makes sense. I miss the person I used to be, though I like the person I currently am, but I'm a little quieter now, a little more cautious (meaning I'm less prone to illegal nightswimming), and I'm definitely a lot less likely to encourage everyone to do tequila shots at the end of the evening.

I've been writing myself FutureMe emails every week for about six months now and, since I'm sending them all a year ahead, I'll start receiving them sometime next June. I'm not sure what I'm hoping to gain from this experience, other than maybe I'll wonder why I felt the need to write stupid shit to myself every week, but I suppose it'll just be another reminder of how quickly time goes by and how much (how little?) a person can change in a year. It might end up being the most depressing project I've ever undertaken. Or it might be really uplifting and fun and super positive yay hugs! I'm guessing it'll be all of the above, but also a little weird because pretty much everything I do ends up being at least a little weird.

My uncle, when I was in high school, hurt his knee somehow, playing football or baseball or some other kind of ball (who can keep them straight?) and told us he'd hurt it because he was still trying to play like he was 25, since in his head, he WAS still 25. And I thought, at the time, "well, that's just odd," but now I wonder if I'll always feel that way, too. Maybe I'll be writing a similar post in 25 years, provided the world doesn't end in a few weeks or that the internet doesn't collapse in on itself at some point, about how I can't believe my friend just became a grandma or won the Nobel Peace Prize or whatever. Maybe we all stay a certain age in our minds, no matter how many years removed we are from it, which means I'll always be missing that person, so far removed from who I am now, and removing herself further and further each day. Maybe these FutureMe emails will give me a better glimpse of who that person was, that she's not that far away and that, really, I can hang out with her any time I want because HELLO BLOG ARCHIVES.

Though, again, this all hinges on the internet not falling apart in the next 25 years. So, you know. Fingers crossed. 

You have a baby. In a BAR.

You guys, I have the Tigger song stuck in my head and I don't know why. It's driving me crazy because that might be the most annoying song ever, except for maybe the Barney song which was used as torture in The Men Who Stare at Goats FOR GOOD RAISIN.

Anyway. Last night, we went to an advanced screening of Scott Pilgrim because Joe got free tickets because OF COURSE HE DID. I don't want to spoil anything, but I will say I super enjoyed it times 10. I'm not sure what I would have thought if I hadn't read the books, but I feel like it would have still been enjoyable. There were plenty of lols and my only complaint is that the people behind us had obviously never even heard of Scott Pilgrim because they spent the majority of the movie saying things like, "wut...," "that doesn't make sense," and, "huuuuuuuuuuh?" and I hated them and wanted them to leave but they didn't because who passes up a free movie? Not those people. I really wanted to murder them in the face, you guys, but I didn't because I also really wanted to see the whole movie.

It was an incredibly well-cast movie, from Young Neil to Roxy Richter, although I wasn't too impressed with whatserface who played Ramona Flowers. I could look it up but I don't feel like it, so you do it. I think her name is Mary Something Something. Have fun, detectives.

This week seems really busy and I'm not sure why, other than I don't normally go to the movies on a Tuesday. I haven't worked out at all this week, but I have managed to not eat a bunch of junk food for every meal, so that's a win win (win). However, my bridal shower is this weekend and all bets are off because there will be snacks. And drinks. Because my bridal shower is IN A BAR. THAT'S RIGHT. Wishes really do come true.

SPOILER: this post has no point

I feel like I'm neglecting my blog. I suppose it's because I am, especially compared to the days of yore, when I would post approximately eight times a day whether I had something to say or not. Things seem really busy right now, because, um, they just do, what with the changing jobs and the upcoming move and whatnot. My parents are out of town this week, and my sister is home with the dog so I've been visiting them every other day or so, and OF COURSE I'm taking her to a bar tonight. What else are big sisters for but supplying their younger siblings with free booze? Advice? I think not. I suck at advice. Anyway, last night we got dinner and then watched Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 and wouldn't you know it? Those pants traveled all over the place AGAIN! I actually totally heart those movies because I like all the actresses and also it makes me cry like 80 bajillion times and you know what? Sometimes I like for a movie to make me cry. Not like Hotel Rwanda cry, though. It took me about 24 hours to recover from that.

Tonight marks the fourth night this week I will be drinking and compared to weeks past, this is WAY WAY more than normal. Granted, the only night of drinking that led to drunken shenanigans was Wednesday night, and that was for RESEARCH. Or something. It led to this, anyway, and that's better than what most of my drunken escapades lead to, WHICH IS: yelling, running away from people, trying to climb things, sending mean emails, ETCETERA ETCETERA. Does everyone else think of Yul Brynner when they say/think that? I do. EVERY TIME.

On Monday, Wayne and Nancy had us over for steak and mashed potatoes and beer mug shaped cookies and on Tuesday, I volunteered with The Children, who did not want to talk about their dead loved-ones but INSTEAD wanted to play hide-and-seek-tag (wtf?) and throw Jenga pieces at each other, PLUS it was St. Patrick's Day and so obviously the only thing I could do once I left volunteering was go have some beers with my friends. I tried not to be too offended when Steve left 10 minutes after I got there but WTF STEVE? Why do you hate me? Hee.

It's not just my blog I'm neglecting. Aside from Lost, I've watched very little TV this week. I haven't even watched last night's episode of The Office and the weirdest thing is I DON'T EVEN CARE. I'm not sure what kind of TV-apathy disease I'm suffering from lately, but I'm sure it'll pass. Although, I kind of hope it's permanent and that's scares me because it's like I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE.

I do know one thing, though. And it's that I. LOVE. CAPS LOCK.

I meant to post this hours ago but then I saw something shiny and forgot (plus also! grace in small things: day 8)

I think many of us can agree that 2009 has gotten off to a rocky start. Early on in January, when it looked like 2009 was kicking some of my friends square in the face, I theorized that MAYBE 2009 was following that saying about March: In like a lion, out like a lamb. So rest easy, friends. 2009 may suck right now, but by December, you will be swimming in pools of chocolate or money or Hannah Montana dolls or whatever other weird thing you kids are into these days. Also, playing with lambs, if I'm understanding that saying correctly.

I don't know what to expect from this weekend, since it is both the last day of January and the first day of February, but I have high hopes. High, I say! My hopes, not me. Which brings me to my five things for the day:

1. chocolate covered pretzels
2. I have a dinner date with Joe
3. and then later a drinking date with Heidi
4. and then tomorrow morning, I will sleep in
5. and then drink coffee and eat peanut butter toast and hang out in my pajamas watching bad TV and reading

And then, you know, I will shower and get dressed and stuff. Not that I wouldn't love hanging out in my pajamas all day, reading and watching bad TV. Not that I HAVEN'T hung out in my pajamas all day, reading and watching bad TV. I mean, that's basically what I did on Wednesday, only I did get dressed for a little bit and I spent an hour banging ice off my car (that counts as exercise) and also Jillian killed me and really, I don't consider The Biggest Loser bad TV. Anyway. Where was I?

Right. Tomorrow we are celebrating The Birth of Steve (Lampl and Jon will be there!) and then on Sunday, I'm going to my parents' to watch The Super Bowl. Not because I care about the game (pshaw) but because I whined so much about wanting them to make spicy chili that they finally caved, and also I'm going to try and convince them that we should watch The Puppy Bowl instead of football.

So, you know, here are the good things I have going on this weekend: Joe, Heidi, Steve, Lampl, Jon, coffee, peanut butter, pajamas, bad TV, reading, parents, sister, beer, chili, puppies playing football. Please be nice, January.

Me fail English? That's unpossible!

Firstlies, take this quiz. I missed the first question (DAMMIT) but got the rest right. Thank you, Kat, for sharing this quiz and ALSO for telling me to wear red today for good luck. So far, so good. My red shoes are squeaky, though. What's that about? We have to wear these work badges around our necks on lanyards (much like the freshman leashes we wore our keys on in college . . . what?) and I also have this token on mine that bangs into my badge every time I take a step. So when I walk it's like, "smack smack smack" unless I hold onto my badge so the badge and token stop banging each other FOR FIVE SECONDS OH MY GOD. Anyway, today I'm squeaking when I walk and my badge and token are banging and it's all very loud. My point is, I can't sneak up on anyone at work, which is unfortunate. I'm very good at sneaking. And then jumping out! And scaring! Ask Joe. This one time I think I almost made him pee his pants a little because I jumped out from the dark and went "AHHHHH!" It was like that time Derek Zoolander went into the coal mine. You know? YOU know.

Now it is time to completely change subjects. Heidi's family had a memorial service for her grandpa yesterday, and I spent the majority of it pinching myself to take my mind off of crying. Someone once told me that if you're about to cry and you pinch the fleshy part of your hand between your thumb and forefinger, it will make you stop. I don't really know if it works but I kept doing it yesterday. Of course, then I wanted to cry because I was pinching myself, but whatever. Give Heidi all your hugs! Now!

Good news, everyone! Tam's grandpa is on the mend. That doesn't mean you can stop thinking good thoughts. Oh no. Think MORE good thoughts. They're working.

Also, happy birthday to three-hole-punch Steve. Congratulations, my friend. Today you are a man. (I don't know)

I feel like I did a lot this weekend. I think because both Friday and Saturday nights I was out PAST TWO IN THE A.M. Amazing, yes? It's like I remembered I'm not 80 and also that bars stay open that late. Even more amazing is that I was not drunk at ANY of these bars and I didn't fall down at all. That is both amazing and unprecedented. We saw some bands Friday night (and met Sad Captain) and on Saturday, while we were waiting for Heidi and her coworkers to finish their bowling tournament (you heard me), we sat in a dark corner of a busy bar, drinking Miller Lites, listening to a not-terrible rock band, eating cheese con queso, watching two men and a woman play grabass with each other in front of the dartboard, and trying to figure out how to turn on the flash on my camera phone. That last one was an EPIC FAIL but the rest worked out quite nicely. Last night, my parents fed me dinner and my mom gave me a billion pieces of kitchenware. I spent a great deal of last night reorganizing the kitchen to make room for the new dishes. This means I now have a lot of stuff to either put in storage or give to Goodwill. I'm leaning toward giving it all to Goodwill. Except for the fish plate. Lampl would kill me if I got rid of the fish plate. Do you like how I'm being all enigmatic about the fish plate? No? OK.

In other news, this week on The Collective, we're supposed to write about embarrassment and failure. I'm having a hard time narrowing down which embarrassing story to tell. Sigh.

This is more random than usual. I'm sorry. Wait. No. I'm not sorry at all.

sad captain

Last night, Joe and I watched a really bad Lifetime movie. We were just killing time, trying to decide whether or not to go out and see this band, and I came upon the Lifetime Movie Network. A movie was just starting. A movie starring Leo's daughter from The West Wing. If that's not reason enough to watch a movie, I don't know what is. It was about date rape. And also it was awful. Toward the end, Leo's daughter was all, "I want to get back together with my ex-boyfriend -- even though he didn't believe me when I told him that his best friend raped me." That was the point where I started shouting, "No! No, Mal! Go find Sam Seaborn! He'd totally believe you if you said you were raped! He is a gentleman!" True story. Ask Joe.

And then, around 10, when the movie was over, we decided to head to the bar even though my normal bedtime these days is around 11 (at the latest). I was a little worried about possibly being out really late and then I told myself to shut the eff up because OH MY GOD I'm 26, not 107. So we went to the bar and made fun of the awful awful first band, and then sort of enjoyed the middle band, mostly because the lead singer A) was very sweaty, B) looked like Adam Brody, and C) had a voice that did not in any way look like it should be coming out of his tiny, skinny body. By the time the third band came out, I had a nice mixture of beer buzz and delirium going on, so I started taking pictures and videos with my phone. My favorite video is of Sad Captain. He had wavy gray hair and a big, fluffy beard, and when I first saw him, he was sitting at the bar, staring forlornly at his beer with his cheek resting on one sad hand. He became Sad Captain when I saw that he was wearing a navy blazer with gold buttons all down the cuffs. Just like Cap'n Crunch! It totally looked like he was on shore leave or whatever, but only for the weekend, and he couldn't get ahold of any wenches so that's why he was sad. The end.

they call me The Jackal

Did you know that Thanksgiving is next week? Well, Thanksgiving is next week. I'm not doing anything crazy this Thanksgiving, like running a race or driving 896 hours to DC, because I'm working the day after Thanksgiving. I'm OK with this (no, I'm not fuckshitdamn). I am, however, attempting the unimaginable. I'm cooking something for Thanksgiving dinner.

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUN!

Alright, FINE, I'm only making the green bean casserole. And for some reason my mom already bought all the ingredients, so I just have to go over and mix them all together. I realize green bean casserole is like, the easiest thing EVER to make, but last time I asked if I could make anything, I was put in charge of bringing the rolls. Bring them I did, and they were delicious, but I wanted a bit more responsibility this year, especially since I will most likely end up eating at least half of the mashed potatoes.

Speaking of food, I forgot it's the time of year where I eat nonstop. Crap. Like, yesterday, we had a carry in for someone's birthday. I brought macaroni salad (bought, not made), and there were deviled eggs and appetizers and fruit and BBQ chicken and OH MY GOD the best broccoli cheese soup I have ever had in my entire life. Today my boss is ordering pizza for lunch and I'm going to try and avoid it since I had pizza for dinner last night, but if it's really good pizza, I'm not sure I'll be able to. There are also leftover bagels and muffins that we stole from the IT department's meeting yesterday. What, it's not like they were going to eat it. They don't even eat. They survive on coffee and cigarettes.

My point is, I picked a bad week to forget to work out. (Forget, heh.) So I should probably do that tonight. And tomorrow. And then it's the weekend, so all bets are off, because my friends will be here and, this is just a guess, but I think they'll want to do all manner of unhealthy things, what with the eating good food and drinking good booze and . . . that's pretty much it. I'll barely have time to sleep, let alone work out. Please. Priorities, people.

Hey, all right, Ross came as Doody!

We celebrated Halloween a bit early this year, dressing up on Saturday and hitting both the Oregon District's HauntFest and a Halloween party hosted by a walking taco. The festivities started around 8, even though Heidi was still sewing her costume. I mixed up some black punch (grape Koolaid, orange Koolaid, ginger ale, and vodka) and maybe should have used less vodka and more ginger ale. We even made a frozen hand to put in the punch, but the fingers melted really quickly. Also, Joe broke most of them off when he dropped it into the bowl.

Joe and I made a pretty accurate Charlie Brown and Lucy, Steve ended up as . . . you know, I'm not really sure. Heh. After adding a red jacket to his ensemble, he soon became Chas Tenenbaum, and later on that night, Steve Holt. But the real star that night was Heidi, whose Rainbow Brite costume was the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life. There are pictures of her and Steve Holt/Chas Tenenbaum, as well as Charlie Brown trying to kick a football, but they're all on Heidi's camera. Sorry.

Down at the Oregon District it was, well, really fucking cold. We didn't stay long, but we were there long enough for Willie Nelson to call me a bitch. As in, "Charlie! Don't let that bitch pull the football away again!" which was ridiculous, because I think at this point Joe was the one carrying the football. See, when I've been drinking, I tend to lose things and my dad has had the football for 96 years and would probably be really upset if I lost it.

Once we got too cold to wander the streets, we ended up at a house party, complete with hot cider, keg, bonfire, and Sarah Palin. Sarah had lots of babies with her, and eventually most ended up in the fire. I'm not saying Sarah Palin likes to burn babies, I'm just telling you what I saw with my own two (somewhat drunk) eyes.

My sister text messaged me yesterday evening, asking what I was doing. I wrote back "nothing," but a more accurate answer would have been this:

I slept til 11, got up and went to Wendy's for lunch, came home and took a three hour nap, did some laundry, showered, put my pajamas back on, watched TV with Heidi, and got El Toro carry out for dinner.

So, yes, it was a bit of a lazy Sunday. I wore pajamas for most of the day, only changing out of them to go to Wendy's, El Toro, and later to buy pumpkins for more pumpkin carving tonight. I heart Halloween so hard.

nobody ever told her it's the wrong way

Last night, a while after Heidi had gone to get her manicure (I was invited, but (and I know this will surprise you) I decided not to go), my phone rang.

Heidi: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Heidi: Do you want meet us at Bar Louie?
Me: Bar Louie?
Heidi: Yeah, we're gonna get dinner and drinks.
Me: Awesome, I'll be right up.

And up I went, because not only had I written my 300 words for the day, but I'd ALSO written an article. I mean, I would have gone up there anyway, but I felt far less guilty since I'd actually done some work. And you guys? If you thought the 123 GoBox was good, just HOLD ONTO YOUR MINDS BECAUSE I AM ABOUT TO BLOW THEM. Wow, that is like the poorest choice of words EVER and you'd think I'd delete them and write something else but YOU'D BE WRONG. Get used to it. Um, right. So, Bar Louie was having a special. One. Dollar. Hamburgers. And not like those pussy, little sliders from White Castle, either. Real-sized hamburgers. The toppings all cost like 50 cents extra but who cares? The hamburger (plus bun) was only $1. Which made up for the fact that our beers cost $6. But whatever, who cares, that beer was delicious.

I have no idea what my point is, except that if your friends call and ask if you want to come to the bar, you always say yes. Because you will be rewarded in hamburgers. Cheap, delicious hamburgers.

Also, beer.

and now I need to sleep for a week

My trip to Philadelphia was legendary, even though I didn't get to lick the Liberty Bell. BUT. I did teach Abigail, in the middle of the bar, how to do this dance:

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

who you calling a cooty queen, you LINT LICKER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please take the chairs away. I don't like them. The big one is staring at me and that short one is being very droll.

How is it Monday again? Wasn't it just Monday last week at this time? Why does this keep happening? WHY?

It was a good weekend, although I did absolutely nothing productive. On Friday, Heidi and I watched Knocked Up and a bunch of episodes of Ugly Betty and got drunk off of four beers. WTF? I'm ashamed of myself.

We were all good on Saturday and went to the library and then we decided that since it was such a nice day we shouldn't waste it because it's Ohio and soon the weather will be so shitty that I will want to cry, cry, cry all day long. True story. So we went to the Nature Reserve and accidentally ended up hiking 3 miles.

Later that night, Steve came over and we all went to this bar. I think it might be a good one. We've only been twice but it's been fun both times. Let's break it down, shall we?

PROS:

$4 pitchers of beer
good food
lots of tables
buffalo head on wall

CONS:

only one Oasis song on the jukebox (Lyla)

I think the $4 pitchers win. Somehow we ended up polishing off a good four of them and also a Washington Apple. We also poured some money into the jukebox, took a cab home ($6!!!), and lit something on fire and threw it into the pond. What? It was for HEIDI!!! I think she found it very cathartic. Am I right, Heidi? Then we called Heidi's brother and told him we were lost in Kalamazoo. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? (I totally stole that from someone).

Also, at this bar, when I was coming back from the bathroom some guy told me I was hot. I was really flattered until I realized he was the same guy who had been shouting so loudly along to Say it Ain't So* that I could HEAR HIM IN THE BATHROOM. Seriously, it sounded like he was in the stall next to me. Still, it was flattering, even though he was clearly so shitfaced that he thought it would be a good idea to ruin a Weezer song for the entire bar.

All I managed to do yesterday was watch more Ugly Betty and mooch dinner off of my parents. So . . . yeah. Good times.

*I have absolutely no idea if that is a link to the right video because I can't watch Youtube right now because Big Brother is watching.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Don't do anything I wouldn't do. That doesn't leave much, so, you know . . . have fun.

Why is this so hard? That’s what she said. Oh my god. What am I saying?

So, ok, I haven't posted in a while. I'm sorry! It doesn't mean I've stopped loving you. Really. Mama's just busy, ok? She'll read you a book tomorrow night. You know how to microwave a pizza, right? Go on. Go watch some TV while Mama works.

Yeah, I don't know.

Friday was Heidi's boyfriend's birthday. And when it's your birthday you get to pick the plans. Which is how I ended up at a horse track in Kentucky on Friday night. I mean, I'm not complaining although it did kind of smell weird. Like desperation and horse poo. BUT. They had hot dogs and popcorn and nachos and $1 beer. ONE DOLLAR. I didn't bet on any horses, though I totally would have paid money to pet one. Unfortunately that was not an option. Oh, and also? So many people had their kids with them. Also, girl scouts were there selling cookies (satan!) but I didn't buy any. The lady in front of us, though? Who let her tiny baby crawl around ON THE FLOOR AT THE HORSE TRACK? She bought some cookies and then she was eating one and it fell ON THE FLOOR AT THE HORSE TRACK and she PICKED IT UP, DUSTED IT OFF AND ATE IT. IT'S TRUE! HEIDI SAW IT! I wish I could make the caps lock more caps lockier because that is how grossed out I am.

Oh and also? Heidi and I took a trip to the restroom, which actually wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be except in three of the stalls there were these weird contraptions that kind of looked like toilets but not really. Maybe horse toilets. They looked like urinals that were sitting on the floor rather than attached the wall. As Heidi and I gazed at them in confusion, a lady walked up behind us, peered around the stall door and said, "Oh, those are the stand up ones," and then walked into one of the normal-toileted bathrooms like she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. But, she said THE STAND UP ONES. What?!? OK, I don't know if any other women ever tried to pee standing up when they were little (I know I'm not alone, cause Heidi said she tried it once, too . . . Heidi, sorry if you didn't want me to tell anyone that, but everyone knows what a giant liar I am so they probably won't believe me . . . OK, that's not true, I'm a horrible liar) but let me tell you what happens. It runs down your legs and gets all over the damn place. So I would like someone to explain what the hell was going on in that Kentucky bathroom. No, you know what? I don't want to know.

After the horse track, we went to Hofbrau House. Where they serve liters of beer and also fried pickles. Unfortunately, due to some poor planning, we arrived at Hofbrau House too late to order food. OR SO OUR WAITRESS SAID. OK, so we asked if we could order food and she said she'd go back to check and see if the kitchen was still open and then she NEVER CAME BACK. And when we finally managed to catch her attention (which was difficult since she was avoiding eye contact and ignoring our calls of "Miss! Miss!" and Steve chanting "PLATE OF PRETZELS" while pounding his fists on the table . . . I mean, how do you ignore that?), she told us that they weren't making food anymore. To which I said, "why do you lie, liar?" I was pretty upset. I almost cried. I may have used the "C-U-Next-Tuesday" word . . . over and over and over to the point where people started backing uncomfortably away from me until I remembered I still had beer and concentrated on that.

So, as it worked out, we had banana bread (eaten before we left Dayton), popcorn, and beer for dinner. Oh, until we went to Skyline at 2 AM. OK. I don't like Skyline but I have this habit when I'm drunk of trying things I think I don't like. This habit led to me finding out that, yes, I DO like sour cream. Which was good considering I had just smeared almost an entire container on a chimichanga. ANYWAY. What was I saying? Oh. Skyline. We went there. And I decided to try the hot dogs. I know they're called something . . . two-ways or whatever. I almost got a three-way just so I could say, "I would like a threeway, please," but three hot dogs is a lot. But I did get a two-way. And it was as disgusting as I remembered (I did eat it but, I mean, we HAD skipped dinner). Still. I maintain my belief that Skyline hot dogs are boiled in toilet water because that's what they taste like.

I do like one thing about Skyline, and that is that they give you a bowl of oyster crackers, which I then douse in hot sauce and try to eat them all even though my mouth is on fire and my lips are turning purple. True story.

Then on Saturday we went to a comedy club. Also, other stuff happened this weekend, but I'm getting tired of typing.

I want the house, Jan, I want the picket fence, I want the ketchup fights, and the tickling, and the giggling.

If you had told me that yesterday I would start out the day at work and end it by riding a mechanical bull (twice), I probably wouldn't have believed you. In fact, I'm still a little skeptical.

Good thing there are pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.

In other news, I love my friends.

I wanna quit the gym!

Earlier this week, Heidi and I joined a gym. Because it's cold outside and half-assedly doing a 20 minute Pilates DVD four times a week just wasn't having the results we were hoping for. Go figure. It's the same gym my dad and uncle go to at 5 in the morning, but I doubt we'll ever run into them. Who works out at 5 AM? Crazy people, that's who. Anyway, so nine months after moving into our apartment, we discovered that residents of our apartment complex get a discount at a nearby gym. A significant discount. The guy who sold us our membership also pretended we were sisters and gave us a family discount. And waived the usual 1.5 million dollar registration fee. It is so cheap, you guys! So cheap! Which is good, because after we pay for cable, the Internets, and our Target addiction, we don't have a lot of money to just throw around all willy-nilly like Donald Trump, who probably not only lights his cigars with hundred dollar bills, but wipes his butt with them and ALSO has a giant room in his house full of monies and goes swimming in ginormous piles of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck.

The whole registration process was a long one, full of tedious paperwork, and the guy helping us (I'll call him Seth . . . because that was his name) told us he used to live on Wittenberg's campus AT THE SAME TIME Heidi and I went there. I asked if he was familiar with McMurray's (aka That Bar We Went To Every Other Night) and he said he used to be a bouncer there. So I'm actually surprised he didn't recognize us. I kind of wanted to be like, "Oh, hey, we were those girls who monopolized the karaoke machine!" or "You know all those missing bar signs from the walls? We took those!" or "Sorry if you ever had to yell at us at 2:30 in the morning because we wouldn't leave the bar" but I didn't say any of those things because he hadn't given us our membership yet and I didn't want to be banned from the gym before I had a chance to try out the Cardio Cinema. That's right, Cardio Cinema. You can watch movies while you work out. And sure, last night the movie was Rocky (I don't know which number as this was the first piece of a Rocky film I have ever seen) but flashy lights and loud noises make the time go faster regardless of what movie is producing them.

And now I bring you . . . Conversations With My Roommate: Gym Edition.

In the car

Me: I hope someone warned the gym we were coming.
Heidi: I know, we're probably going to say something inappropriate.
Me: Yes, LOUDLY inappropriate.
Heidi: Like vas deferens.
Me: Or cervix.
Heidi: Ew.
Me: Some words should not ever be said.
Heidi: I agree.
Me: Like panties.
Heidi: I hate that word.
Me: Also? Moist.
Heidi: Oh, yes! That word is banished!
Me: Also those words should never be put together. Because . . . moist panties? Ew.
Heidi: Oh god.
Me: Seriously, should we have called ahead to warn them we were on our way?

On the way to the locker room

Heidi: So . . . they spelled your name wrong.
Me: I know. Both of them!
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: At what point do you think I should tell them my name is not Jenny Baylar?
Heidi: Um.
Me: Probably before now?
Heidi: Probably.

In the cross-training room

Me: I wish sports wasn't on the TV.
Heidi: Didn't that guy say we could change the channel?
Me: Score!
Heidi: Can you reach it?
Me: YES . . . ok, maybe.
Heidi: What are you putting it on?
Me: Duh, The Office.
Heidi: What is Ben Franklin doing on The Office?
Me: I don't know, but it is all kinds of awesome.

Me [whispering]: Can I tell you something?
Heidi: Yes.
Me: I am uncomfortable with how much working-out-noises sound like sex noises.
Heidi: Haha, me too.
Me: Seriously, do you hear that guy over there?
Heidi: Unfortunately.

ALSO. We were privy to a conversation between two men on the other end of the room and DURING THIS CONVERSATION one of them, after saying that he'd had to change five beds at the hospital that day, said these magical words, "I peed in my bed! I puked in my bed! I pooped in my bed! I peed the bed again!" Have you ever heard anything so beautiful? Also, it's hard not to hurt yourself on a piece of gym equipment when you're laughing not only hysterically but also trying to be quiet about it.

You know how I know you're gay? Because you macramed yourself a pair of jean shorts.

You know, I love having plans on the weekend and I love hanging out with my friends, but I always end up paying for it on Monday morning. Like today? For instance. My entire body still hurts from sleeping half of Saturday night on a hardwood floor. And when I say sleeping, I mean changing positions every five minutes to try and fine one that would allow me to, I don't know, actually fall asleep? ALSO, I have a cold, probably from wandering around downtown Columbus Saturday night in the frigid, frigid air, but I also wore heels all night and DID NOT fall down or even trip (OK, I might have tripped once) so I'm calling that a wash. I also have Kathleen-Turner-man-voice as a result of the cold and also yelling over both a band and a DJ on Saturday.

Here is my favorite snapshot of the weekend:

Me: Nick*, where do you come up with this stuff?
Heidi: He spends all day writing it down in his diary, remember?
Nick: It's true.
Me: Is your name cross-stitched on the cover?
Nick: Of course.
Heidi: And I bet he writes in it with one of those pink pens with the feathers on the end.
Me: And it says "Princess" down the side of it.
Steve: And there's a compartment in the back for his cross-stitching materials.

Oh, and also?

Nick: Bax**, can you fit this glass in your purse?
Me: Is that a dare?
Nick: No.
Me: Why do you want it?
Nick: Um, because it has the Bengals logo on it?
Me: Oh, OK.

*Roommate's Boyfriend
**One of the many names I answer to