tumbly

Work tried so hard to eat me this morning, but I didn't let it. I just kept closing my eyes and picturing myself NOT at work for the rest of the week and, wouldn't you know it? That helped.

In other news, I had an email from Nancy when I got up this morning.

SIDENOTE: I would be so much earlier for work if I would stop checking my email while I'm getting ready in the morning. Instead, I check my email and this leads to surfing the Internets in various stages of undress and it's not so much productive. THE END.

Anyway, Nancy sent me a link to some story about a Miami student falling out of his loft and hurting himself really, really badly. She wasn't trying to bum me out or anything, she was reminding me how lucky I am that when I fell out of my loft junior year, I didn't hurt myself. Not really, anyway. I had some bruises and, yeah, there's a chance I might have hit my head because I still don't remember falling. Or, you know, LANDING. The next morning, I had this conversation with my roommate (not Heidi, though, I lived with Liz then):

Me: Man, my arm hurts so bad! I wonder what I did to it.
Liz: You're kidding, right?
Me: No . . . why?
Liz: You fell out of your loft last night, dumbass.
Me: I did? Nuh-uh.
Liz: You did. I heard a giant crash and when I opened my eyes, you were lying on the floor.
Me: Hahaha!
Liz: Yeah. And when I asked if you were OK, you mumbled something and then ran to the bathroom.
Me: That's crazy.
Liz: I KNOW.

I have this theory that my bones are extra hard (hee) because my body knows I fall down and run into stuff a lot, and it's trying to protect me. It's not a great theory and has no scientific merit whatsoever, but it's a theory nonetheless.

Good talk, Internets. I need to go eat lunch now. My stomach is angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, I fell over! oh, I fell over AGAIN!

When it rains, this giant puddle forms right in front of our steps. Heidi and I call it Lake That's What She Said but I can't really remember why. It's pretty deep and long and always gets everyone wet and OK, now I remember why we named it Lake That's What She Said, so never mind.

This morning, as a result of all the melting snow, Lake That's What She Said was deeper than normal. I was also afraid it was frozen, so I tiptoed around it. Once I'd passed the treacherous lake, I assumed I was OK and started walking normally, but you know how they say when you assume it makes an ass out of you and me? Well, sometimes it makes you fall flat on your ass. Because, see, you assumed the wet sidewalk was just wet, but really it was icier than . . . an ice skating rink. For real. I fell down and hurt my butt and also scraped my hand on some ice or something in the snow pile I fell into, and now I have a bruise on my butt and a cut on my hand. You'd think I'd be used to falling down since I do it so often, but you'd be wrong. I got to work and wanted everyone to know that WAAAAAAAH I fell down and HURT MYSELF! FEEL SORRY FOR ME OR YOU WILL PAY!

It's quite possible that I fell over because I was still thinking about the dream I had last night. It was so scary. See, I was at this grocery store and so many people were there and I soon found out it was because there were zombies! Outside! The store! And so I ran to the produce aisle (the fuck?) because . . . I was going to trick the zombies into thinking the heads of lettuce were brains? I don't know. What I DO know is, I was soon trapped in a grocery store (HELL) with all of these people I didn't know, and also Katherine Heigl. Eventually, I got up to go to the bathroom and even in my dream, I knew I wasn't going because I had to pee or anything, but because all the people in the store were bugging the crap out of me with their, "oh no, zombies might eat my brains!" as if they were the only ones worried about their brains being eaten. Even in times of zombie-crisis, people are still self-centered assholes. So, anyway, while I was in the bathroom, this really tall, fat lady with short red hair was in there with me and she was all, "I'm about to turn into a zombie!" and I said, "oh HELL to the NO," and ran out of the bathroom! But she chased me! And then she tackled me and started trying to bite me and I was like, "What the hell is wrong with you? You haven't even turned into a zombie yet, why are you biting me?" but then she DID turn into a zombie and everyone else was just standing around staring at me until finally I yelled, "HEY FUCKERS, HOW ABOUT YOU GET THIS HUGE ZOMBIE OFF OF ME!" so they did. And they threw her outside.

It was at this time that I decided I'd had enough of the grocery store and its annoying inhabitants, so I gathered a posse of people who apparently didn't annoy me and we devised a plan to run to my car and get the hell out of Zombie Town. Said plan consisted of . . . going out the front door and running to my car. BUT, once we got outside, as is so often the case, I couldn't remember where I'd parked. FINALLY, we found my car, but there wasn't enough room for Katherine Heigl so she got eaten by zombies. I wasn't too upset, though, because it was just Katherine Heigl. Cristina Yang I would have been upset about, but Izzie Stevens? Please. Even if there had been room in my car, I probably would have pushed her out anyway.

I could write a song, and using real words, not "odelay."

You guys know how I'm not smart, right? I mean, you really should know that if you've been reading this blog for even just a couple days. If you haven't realized by now that I'm not smart, well, I'm sorry to say that you might be just as dumb as I am.

I do a lot of stupid things. I drink and then talk to people or dial my cell phone or attempt to not fall down. I eat things I know will make me feel so, so sick. I stay up too late when I know I have to get up early the next morning. This morning I burnt my hand with my blowdryer and once I poked myself in the eye with my toothbrush.

And last night, when a dear friend desperately needed an answer to a very important question (I mean, five bucks was riding on it), I thought, "what would Abigail do?" And you know what? Abigail would head straight to Wackopedia. And so I typed Wackopedia into the search field and when Google was all, "did you mean Wikipedia*?" I was all, "no, you fool, take me to Wackopedia toot sweet**!" but you guys? Wackopedia*** is not what it's called. Not yet anyway.

*note: Google did not ask that. What's up, Google? You're slacking.
**whenever I see "wiktionary," I think of that episode of Futurama where Bender couldn't move his body and Beck's Head in a Jar was all like, "Check the Becktionary!" Wow, good story.
***I blame Heather! Anne! for this

_____

Today on The Collective, I offer to make sweet love to the Internets.

Just because we have chiseled abs and stunning features, it doesn't mean that we too can't not die in a freak gasoline fight accident.

Heidi and I often joke about how accident prone we both are. At any given time, one of us has at least a couple of bruises. Usually it's me. I think I hurt myself more often, but when Heidi hurts herself SHE HURTS HERSELF. Like last April? She was at a Reds game and after the game went running across the street, tripped over her flip flops or something, and fell face first and hit her chin on the curb. I was out of town, but I got a voicemail later that night from her and, because of all The Party in the background, pretty much all I could make out was, "BAX! BAAAAAX! I FELL DOWN! I FELL DOOOOOOOOWN!" I listened to it again, hung up and started laughing.

Person I Was With*: What was that?
Me: Heidi fell down? And hurt herself?
PIWW: Um. Do you need to call her back?
Me: Nah, she sounded drunk and happy, I think she's OK.

And since we both get hurt a lot, it leads to a lot of conversations like this:

Me: Ow.
Heidi: What happened?
Me: Nothing, I just stabbed myself in the lip with my car key.
Heidi: I would say that surprises me, but it totally doesn't.

And also this, while roasting marshmallows on Saturday:**

Heidi: Ooh, my marshmallow is done!
[flaming marshmallow melts too fast and falls off poker, onto Heidi's leg]
Me: Um, you're on fire.

See? We're so used to these accidents by now that not even Heidi SETTING HERSELF ON FIRE causes me to blink an eye. It's really only a matter of time before one of us drowns in the toilet, while the other one just stands there all, "um, you're totally drowning right now," and then walks away to make a PB&J sandwich.

So, yes, we both get hurt a lot. I'm sort of surprised that neither of us has blown up the apartment or set it on fire or accidentally blasted a hole in the wall. Although, on our first night living there I did throw a coaster at someone (drunk) and it dented the wall, but apart from all the appliances we've broken, that's the worst damage we've done. So far.

*no, I'm not telling you who, Internets, because I do like to have some secrets . . . mwaahaahaa!
**that's right MARSHMALLOWS!

I'm French. Why do you think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king?

Last night was my first official night of volunteering. I was really nervous because I was afraid they'd put me with the teenagers and teenagers scare me. Mostly because they are all taller than I am but ALSO I was afraid the kids would make fun of me and laugh at me and call me names. Which . . . I know, that's stupid, but I can't help how insecure my brain is. Anyway, I needn't have worried, because no kids showed up. I was very disappointed, especially since I'd driven all the way out there to sit around some church for an hour and a half, but they said this happens every now and then, meaning it WASN'T just that all the kids heard that I was going to be there and so they stayed away.

I am still a bit surprised every time I think about how they're going to let me be in charge of a group of grieving children, especially considering that the last time one of my family members died, we had all the family over, and I didn't eat anything all day but I did consume many, many glasses of wine and also a couple of whisky sours and then I puked and puked my guts out the next day. At my mom and dad's house. CLASSY. Who has two thumbs and knows how to grieve? THIS KID. Yeah, that doesn't really work when you're not saying it out loud but just imagine that I'm pointing my thumbs at myself. Sigh.

CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE

Me: [blah blah blahing about something]
Heidi: Where'd you get that bruise on your leg?
Me: Oh, I don't know.
Heidi: Wow.
Me: But I think it might be from my desk chair at work.
Heidi: OK?
Me: Cause when I stand up, I kind of shove it out of the way with my leg and the arm of the chair hits me right there on the thigh.
Heidi: You bruise like a peach.
Me: Yeah, I also have this bruise on my arm and I have no idea where it came from.

[conversation continues but I don't remember what we were talking about and then all of the sudden Heidi starts laughing]

Heidi: I'm sorry, I just can't get over that bruise on your leg.
Me: Thanks. Thanks a lot.

I mean, to be fair, it is a pretty big bruise so I guess it's funny. Especially since I don't really know where it came from. Good times.

And since I'm not even trying to make these things make sense anymore, here is a dream I had the other night:

I was driving through a cornfield with someone and for some reason I was driving but it wasn't my car. And the worst part was, the car was a stick and I don't know how to drive a stick so I just left it in one gear and then, obviously, the car broke down because A) I wasn't switching gears, B) we were driving through a cornfield, and C) I don't think the car we were driving was designed for driving through cornfields. So after the car broke down, we got out and opened the hood and he started looking at the steaming engine and he was all, "what gear were you in?" and I was like, "First?" and he was like, "FIRST?! We were going 50 mph!" and I was all, "Yeah, but through CORN, I read somewhere that you're supposed to use first gear when driving through corn," and then he shook his head and I woke up.

That story was almost as interesting as my thigh bruise, but only almost.

She's a maniac maniac on the floor, and she's dancing like she's never danced before

So apparently my last post was lame. Because I'm just some sort of dancing monkey here to amuse you all! I don't have feelings! Ooh, look at Jennie! Let's all point and laugh and throw quarters at her! STOP THROWING QUARTERS AT ME! Throw dollars, they don't hurt as much.

Um. Yeah, I don't know. I just spent waaaay too much time on here, trying to figure out exactly how far we ran last night and planning out new running routes. Call me a nerd, I don't care, but that thing is AWESOME. It even tells you how many calories you burned! Which is nice, because the only thing keeping me from running outside instead of at the gym on the treadmill was the fact that I wouldn't know how far I ran and I wouldn't know how many calories I burned, because I don't take tests anymore so I need to have something to use to berate myself when I fail miserably. For instance:

What the hell, Jennie?! You only burned 200 calories? PICK UP THE PACE NEXT TIME, YOU GODDAMN SLACKER!

is what it sounds like in my head sometimes. There's a tiny drill sergeant in there. No joke. Also, what he really said was way worse, I totally cleaned it up for you guys. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Now I am very very happy that I can run outside, even though I have to wait until after 8 so it's not as hot (because I'm a big, wussy baby), but it IS darker which does increase the chances of getting ass raped on a dark corner, but let's just think glass-half-full shit* OK? OK. I'm pretty excited about running but I have to ask . . . when does this "runner's high" kick in? Also, I'm afraid to get hooked on running because it's not like I'm going to run outside in February when the ground is covered in a thick layer of snow and ice and I can't run on a treadmill. Don't look at me like that I CAN'T. I feel like I'm going to fall off. I can't even walk on a treadmill without holding onto the handles. I don't know why you're doubting me. Have we met? My name is Jennie and I fall down a lot.

*stolen from here . . . sigh

I can Dere-lick my own balls, thank you very much.

I'm eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich right now. Don't be jealous. I think the peanut butter and jelly sandwich might be the most perfect sandwich in the history of sandwiches. I would eat one for every meal if I didn't think I'd start to suffer from some sort of nutrition deficiency. When I was little, I didn't even bother with jelly. Just peanut butter and lots of it. Like, so much that when I took a bite of the sandwich I couldn't really open my mouth much until I gulped down half a glass of milk. Mmm, PB&J and milk. Man, I wish I had some milk right now.

This morning at work, in the span of five minutes I was called both "young lady," and "little lady," by different people. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I've been called worse, that's for sure, but I can't help but think "little lady" is unnecessary. Other ways I have been greeted at work? "Hey, girl," a salute, and "here comes trouble."

So I didn't really sleep last night. I'm not sure why. It could be all the caffeine I mainlined yesterday in order to stay awake at work. Or it could be that my body has just given up and succumbed to my brain's will to stay awake as long as possible. You win, brain. THIS TIME. But wait til Saturday when I will kill parts of you with alcohol. THEN we will see who is the one with the willpower! Or at least the vodka.

Even though I didn't really sleep last night, I still got out of bed late. Of course. Also? I found out that I don't have time to shave my legs when I get up that late. I'm not sure why I felt the need to shave my legs this morning. I thought about wearing a skirt because I really need to do laundry and skirts are practically all that I have left. But then I remembered I have a giant bruise on my shin from Friday night. I'm not sure how it got there, but it is big and all sorts of interesting colors. I'm used to finding random bruises all over my body. Not because Heidi beats me or anything, but because I have a tendency to run into walls and trip over shoes or Phoebe or air. True story.

a fist, a hand, hoocha hoocha hoocha . . . lobster

I could tell you I've never been this tired in my life, but I'd probably be lying. In fact, I'm so tired that I can't remember if I've ever been this tired in my life. So that's a problem. A tiny problem, I'll admit, but a problem.

Oh, Internets. It was sort of a disastrous weekend. I feel like I spent most of it in my car stuck in traffic because of the fucking tolls in Chicago. The traffic was so bad that even though I left the city for Barrington (where? yeah, I don't know either) an hour and a half early, I was two minutes late for the ceremony. And when I got there, they told me that since the ceremony had already started I couldn't go in. I thought about going all Jon Secada and pounding on a window and screaming until they let me in, but I couldn't see any windows overlooking the ceremony so instead I went out to my car and cried. I mean, yeah, it's not very productive but I felt better afterward. The reception was fun, although I couldn't dance very well because I think the dress I borrowed from Heidi was just a tiny bit too small and I was afraid one of my boobs would fall out and nothing ruins a reception faster than some guest who didn't even make it to the ceremony having a wardrobe malfunction. True story. After the ceremony, I changed my clothes in my car but it was OK because almost everyone was gone and it was really dark and now that I think about it maybe it's not a good idea to change your clothes in a dark, secluded parking lot if you're a woman and alone and in a strange town. Oh well. On the way home, this will surprise you, I got really lost in Chicago but it wasn't my fault because Mapquest gave me the wrong directions. Fucking Mapquest. When I finally got back to Mary's, I found the last parking spot in the $5 parking lot and gave her doorman my sob story about the traffic and the wedding and the getting lost and he let me into Mary's apartment. I guess I don't look very threatening (little does he know). Oh and I also accidentally ran through a toll without paying on the way to the wedding. Oops.

There were other small disasters. Not as disastrous as, I don't know, missing the wedding, but still. At dinner Friday night, there was a tiny mishap with a full margarita and I ended up wearing it. As I sat there, staring at the sticky mess in my lap, I wondered if I should just give up and go home but NO I went into the bathroom (thankfully it was a one person bathroom and not one with a bunch of stalls) and took off my shirt and pants and dried them under the hand dryer. And that is how I ended up half naked in a restaurant bathroom in Chicago. DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE. Anyway, I spent the rest of the night somewhat sticky and smelling of strawberries.

Also?

Mary: Boyfriend's Friend is hitting on you.
Me: No, he's not.
Erica: Yes, he is.
Me: No, he's not.
Mary: Um, OK.
Me: He has a girlfriend.
Mary: Yeah, he cheats on her a lot.
Me: OH MY GOD! I AM SO SICK OF BOYS! SERIOUSLY! I'm done.
Mary: Please stop yelling.

Then later in the car I yelled some more about something I can't remember. Don't worry, this wasn't angry yelling or anything. It's just that when I drink, my volume goes up to 11 (that's high) and everything I say sounds like angry yelling or at least regular yelling but it's really not.

Yesterday it took us approximately 97 hours to get out of the city and I finally made it home a little after 10. And even though I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep last night. What IS that? I love sleeping! Why doesn't my brain? Sleep is SO GOOD. My brain doesn't even know. Stupid brain, who needs it?

I don't want it to seem like it was a terrible weekend. I had fun. It's just that, you know, shitty things happened. It's OK, though, because yesterday was officially the end of my wedding season. Until October. Sigh.

Cause in my head there's a Greyhound station, where I send my thoughts to far-off destinations

I don't know why, but it seems that lately I have lost the ability to just sit around and do nothing. I mean, I am still perfectly capable of staring wistfully into space while listening to sad music. And daydreaming, I'm all over that. It would take a lot for me to lose that ability. Also, I can still easily lose hours to The Internets or a good book. But I find it difficult to watch even a half-hour of television without wanting to jump up and do something else. I'm not complaining. There are worse things in life than being distracted from a TV show. This may sound crazy, but I think I could easily become one of those people who doesn't even own a television (but what's all your furniture pointed at?) and I know right now you are shaking your head all, "Jennie, Jennie, Jennie, you are talking nonsense," but it's TRUE. Right now the only show I really care about seeing is The Office. The rest I could take or leave and if I'm honest with myself, I know that the world would not end if I stopped watching The Office.

Right now, I bet you're wondering who kidnapped the real Jennie and replaced her with this IMPOSTOR! But I say to you, BEHOLD, this IS the real Jennie. FEAST YOUR EYES AND TREMBLE IN FEAR. Anyway. Whatever.

Yesterday, after I got my hair cut and went to the bookstore and lost some time in Target, I came home and tried to sit around but that didn't work, so I changed into some old clothes and went to the nature reserve. I thought about going to Cox (heh) but that seemed like kind of a long drive just to walk around. I was going to wander around the pond by our apartment but then I remembered that Narrows Nature Reserve was just up the road. If you have been reading this blog for almost as long as I've had it (unlikely), you may remember the summer we kept catching chipmunks (and other various animals) and setting them free. Well, this nature reserve is where we took them. When I got there, I half expected a gang of angry chipmunks to come charging at me and carry me away to their secret, underground chipmunk lair. But they didn't. I was kind of disappointed because COME ON! Tiny underground chipmunk lair! If I managed to snap a couple pictures with my phone, I could be famous! Anyway, my dad made a comment yesterday that he's going to set rat traps for the chipmunks this year and I am saying to you right now, Dad, that if you set the humane traps I will personally drive each and every chipmunk you catch to the nature reserve. Please don't kill the chipmunks! I love them! I love them so much! Tell me about the rabbits, George!

Um, right, so I went to the nature reserve. As much as I try to be at one with nature (or whatever), I just don't think I'm very good at it. First of all, I'm far too clumsy. I cannot tell you how many tree roots I almost tripped over and I also almost fell in the river because I was climbing around on this tree branch that was hanging over the water. As I was doing it, I kept thinking, "Oh, Jennie, this is going to end badly. You are going to fall. How about you put your car keys down on the ground before you drop them into the water? Huh? Maybe you want to get down now, OK? Please?" but I didn't fall in the water, only almost. Almost doesn't count. ALSO, I am far too noisy for nature, because every time a bug dive bombed my face, I would exclaim, "FUCK!" or something equally intelligent but for serious, you guys, this one bug was following me, I swear. I never got a good look at it, but it was very buzzy so I fear it might have been a bee. You know how I feel about bees, right? Well, here is how I feel about bees. Only two things in the world scare the bejesus out of me, and that is bees and bats. Also, zombies, but I'm not sure that counts because they are not real (yet).

At one point, I was whistling (told you I was too noisy) down the path and spotted something very red on the ground and when I explored further, I saw that the bright, bright red was attached to a dead woodpecker. I've never seen a woodpecker that close before. I started to get kind of sad, but then the buzzy bug came back and I ran down the path, tripping over nothing but my own feet and almost face-planting on the way.