You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart

A few years ago, I decided to live my year with a motto: NO REGRETS*. This led to various decisions, both good and bad, some of which included 1) Telling a boy I liked him and 2) meeting a boy-stranger from the internet (not Joe). Neither of these situations ended up the way I wanted them to at the time, but they were, I don't know, experiences that I needed to have? Blah blah PERSONAL GROWTH blah.

This year, I've decided to my motto is BE BRAVE. Because, you guys? I'm a total chickenshit. I talk a good game but mostly I just want to sit back and hang out and not worry about if I'm being proactive enough or talking enough or doing enough to ACHIEVE MY DREAMS because did you know that doing dream-achievey stuff is scary sometimes? Or at least it should be. So I've heard. I don't actually know from experience or anything.

I've been sitting here, for a while really, twirling my hair and staring into space and trying to remember the last time I did something that really scared me. And I'm not talking about, like, trying to merge onto the highway in Chicago during rush hour, though that is TERRIFYING, I'm talking about something with actual stakes, something I could fail miserably at, publicly or not, and...I'm coming up blank.

So far this year I haven't really done anything scary but it's not that I've been AVOIDING scary things, it's just that no scary things have come up. Granted, I haven't really been seeking anything out, though, so that's partly on me. But give me a break, it's only January 8th. It's hard to implement a million goals at once, so I'm instead focusing on one or two things at a time, so I don't do what I always do, which is try to do everything at once and then get super burnt out after like a week, which then leads me to give up on everything and go back to my old, lazy ways.

Joe and I have both been trying to write more and have been successful so far, but I told him yesterday that I need to find a better writing system. I used my lunch break to work on some reviews for Cannonball Read (because somehow I'm already behind, even though we're only a week into the new year, maybe because I devoured a million books while I was off of work). I usually write on my lunch break, unless I had to use my brain too much already that day and it’s no longer working, or if I want to leave my closet office for a while and get some fresh air, but let's face it, since when do I ever willingly get up from a computer to go outside?

Anyway, so when I sit down to write something, anything really, it's like I enter some kind of fugue state and just type and type and type as fast as my fingers will allow and, once I'm done with whatever I'm writing, I shake my head and sit back, take a deep breath and think, "wtf, where am I, what have I been doing?" and then I get tired and can't write anymore. So I'm really trying to work more slowly. I think what I'm afraid of is that I'll forget something I want to write down because my mind is all manic, so I feel like I have to type as fast as my brain is working and THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE. Until I can figure out a way to plug the computer directly into my brain, I'm going to have to SLOW DOWN.

So there we go, I guess. My themes for the year are BE BRAVE and SLOW DOWN. I'm not sure how those two fit together, really, or even if they do, but I'll see what happens. I guess I’ll just be brave...slowly? Yeah, that sounds about right.

*I just want to point out that I came up with this motto without having seen Friday Night Lights, which just goes to show you that Tim Riggins and I are MFEO. Just sayin'.

I hope I never win the lottery, THANKS A LOT ALANIS

I recently said these words out loud and I was not exaggerating or being ironic or anything but especially I wasn't being ironic because I grew up listening to Alanis Morissette and so I'll never know what ironic means. ANYWAY here is what I said: "My routine is broken...I'll have to start over." Joe was immediately all, "OK, Abed," which...whatever, TRUE.

I took this assessment at work a while ago called the Kolbe (you can take it, too, if you have $50 lying around that you'd rather spend on a test and not on booze or videogames or whatever it is you kids do nowadays) and it told me a lot of stuff I already know SUCH AS:

• I like to make lists and spreadsheets
• I'm super organized but also procrastinate like hell
• I like to plan things
• I like to come up with ideas and new projects but not follow through on them or do any of the work myself (uh-DUH, please see all of my deserted blog projects for evidence)

It wasn't all that enlightening but I do enjoy taking these kinds of tests. I've taken the Myers-Briggs like 25 times over the course of the years and I always get the same thing: INTJ. Here. I'll prove it. I'll take it right now. 

Nah, I didn't really take it. I thought about it, though. And then I watched Paul Rudd dancing gifs instead. It was way better. See?



In other news, last night I had a dream that Jeff Winger got mad at me because, while strolling around Greendale, I told him that I thought Timothy Olyphant was handsomer than him. Because my brain is a place where Jeff Winger The Fictional Character coexists with Timothy Olyphant The Actual Person and is jealous of him. Anyway, Jeff Winger spent the rest of the day alternating between making sad, puppy dog eyes at me and then glaring at me and shouting, "HE IS NOT HANDSOMER." I'm pretty proud of my brain for knowing that that's exactly how Jeff Winger would react. Also, apparently my brain is so sad about the Community hiatus that it's making up its own episodes of Community when I fall asleep and YOU GUYS I'M TOTALLY OK WITH THAT. My brain could be dreaming about anything. Killer pandas. Penguins who can talk. ROBERT DOWNEY JR. The other night I flew around Hogwarts. Not on a broom, but like Peter Pan, only I didn't need magic or fairy dust, which is a shame because if I was going to look for magic and fairy dust, I'd head straight to Hogwarts first. But no, my brain takes me to Greendale way more often than Hogwarts, which means that my brain thinks that Greendale is more magic than A SCHOOL FOR WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY. Well played, brain. Well played.

Dear Brain, Ryan Baby Goose should not be used for evil, only for good. Love, Jennie

Last night, I had a dream that someone was trying to kill me. I don't know why he was trying to kill me, he just was. I actually wasn't that concerned about it. Maybe I was immortal in my dream WHO KNOWS but I DID know that the killer could shapeshift (thanks, Fringe). At some point I was standing in front of Ryan Gosling and I was like, "Awwwww yeah, Ryan Gosling, LET'S DO THIS," but then he said something weird and I realized he was the killer. You have never known such disappointment. Anyway, then I threw Ryan FakeFace off of a balcony or something but the killer still didn't die! And he was killing people left and right! Like, straight up slitting throats and shooting people and it was GRAPHIC. My point is, I need to stop watching Dexter before bed.

bottom of the barrel

So it would seem I forgot I had a blog. Oops. I was going to write, I really was, but all I had to talk about was coughing and phlegm and Vicks Vapor Rub and nobody wants to hear about that. I'm feeling a bit better today, though, and by that I mean I'm not staring daggers at the clock, wishing for time to go faster so I can go home and put my pajamas on and sit in a drug-induced vegetative state in front of the television. Also, it's Friday. And payday. I enjoy both of those, even though I'm doing this thing where I pretend most of the money in my checking account is not there. I can't spend it if it's not there. This is my reasoning.

I think the drugs are starting to affect my dreams, because last night I dreamt I was at the Inauguration, only it was in this really small concert venue and Barack Obama was wearing the whole graduation get-up (cap and gown and tassels and sashes), which I suppose makes a bit of sense because he was graduating from being awesome to being super awesome. So I'm watching the ceremony and then Barack Obama started singing. I don't remember what song it was but I do remember thinking he had a lovely singing voice. I was way in the back and couldn't see much, so I started inching closer and closer because I'm stealthy like that (until I trip over something or fall over) and soon I was standing right behind the good seats, where all the famous people were sitting. I was standing behind Brian Williams and when he saw me, he jumped up and told me to follow him and I was all, "Sure, Brian Williams, I like your tie, let's go." So then he was all, "Do you know how to drive a taxi?" and I was like, "If a taxi is anything like A CAR, then yes, I can drive a taxi," and he was all, "Thanks, SMART ASS," and I was like, "Chill OUT, Brian Williams, it's a good day!" Then he gave me a taxi and it looked like one of those old, run-down taxis from The Royal Tenenbaums and I drove around for a long time the streets were empty on account of everyone was either AT the Inauguration or WATCHING the Inauguration. Except for me and Brian Williams, of course. Then I woke up and was pissed because I didn't get to see Obama's big encore. The end!

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'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.

That’s the thing about bear attacks. They come when you least expect it.

Last night I was reminded why I like having a roommate more than living the long lonely life of loneliness. Heidi had a bad day at work, a "one of those day" day, if you will, and so I bought a bottle of wine on the way home because the only way I know how to solve problems (such as a "one of those day" day) is with alcohol. So we drank wine and watched trashy TV. Big Brother (Dick and Danielle . . . HATE), The Hills (Spencer . . . DOUCHE), The Real World (Drunk People . . . LOVE), and My Boys. OK, My Boys does not officially qualify as trashy TV. It's not brilliant TV, but it's not terrible. It's got its moments (also, Jim Gaffigan) and I think the biggest problem with it is that it rushes through storylines waaaaay too quickly. Like, something that on a normal show would last at least three episodes, they blow through in half an hour. ANYWAY, before I get into the following CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE, allow me to explain the show a little. PJ is friends with all these dudes. She writes for the Cubs. And apparently next week she has to choose between three hot men. Jeremy Sisto of Clueless and Six Feet Under fame, who she was all in love with for years and he was in Iraq or Afghanistan or somewhere scary and he came back to Chicago and she was like "oooh, I still luuuurrvve him" in her head only it turned out he's engaged now. Awesome. Then there is That Guy Who Played Ethan Crane on Passions and also Keith on Scrubs. He plays for the Cubs and they went on some dates but apparently it violated her ethics as a sports writer to continue dating him. WHAT. EVER. Then in the last episode she met a hot botanist who talked to her about cicadas and brilliantly pretended to be a smoker to get out of awkward, forced party-interactions and was very cute all around. Um, yeah, so CONVERSATIONS WITH MY ROOMMATE:

Heidi: So if you had to choose between the guy from Clueless, Ethan Crane, or the nerdy cicada guy, who would you choose?
Me: I think . . . the cicada guy.
Heidi: Really?
Me: Yeah, because the guy from Clueless has gotten kind of fat. And he has a beard.
Heidi: Plus, he had a fiance, which means he would have had to break that off.
Me: Right, and Ethan Crane would mess up my job.
Heidi: Well . . . maybe not.
Me: And anyway, he's kind of goofy. The cicada guy is nerdy has dark hair and all the guys I've ever liked have had dark hair.
Heidi: Huh. I just realized something.
Me: What?
Heidi: I've never dated a guy with dark hair.
Me: Weird. But that just proves my theory that we'll never fight over the same guy.
Heidi: Well, I dated a guy with dark hair once.
Me: Oh yeah?
Heidi: But he cheated on me so I figured all guys with dark hair are cheaters.
Me: Well, shit, now you tell me.

Although, I have dark hair. Does that mean I'm a cheater? It hasn't so far, but maybe it only applies if you have a penis. Probably we should rethink this theory and not drink a bottle of wine beforehand.

Then? Then I introduced Heidi to lol cats and we spent the next 20 minutes laughing hysterically and saying things like "i luvs dis cher" over and over until we were laughing so hard neither of us could speak. I mean, tell me you're not jealous of our super exciting lives.

Then? Then I went to bed and had the WEIRDEST dreams I have ever had in my life, including but not limited to going swimming in the ocean and being scared that I was going to be attacked by a new kind of sea-bear that was quickly becoming known as THE MOST DANGEROUS BEAR IN ALL THE LAND and, oh this one is the best, teaching Zach Braff how to ride a bike without training wheels. He was wearing a helmet. It was pink and it had flowers on it. I wish I could say we made out or something, but no. I just taught him how to ride a bike. Not very well, I might add, because he fell down SO MANY TIMES because I wasn't strong enough to hold him up on the bike but OH MY GOD Zach Braff is like . . . A FOOT taller than me and I think it's unrealistic to think I could EVER hold him up on a bike WHILE running alongside it because I AM JUST A WEAK LITTLE GIRL LEAVE ME ALONE.

I just want to lie on the beach and eat hot dogs. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I was complaining about having to sit in training all day? I know it's difficult to remember everything I complain about, but try and keep up, would you? Anyway, there were several employees from some of our satellite offices who came in so we could tell them how to do stuff (I can't tell you what stuff, because it's very secret and important . . . OK, no it's not, but it IS very boring so really I'm doing you a favor) and today they sent us a basket full of Cheryl & Company cookies, which is why I have a Blondie Bar sitting in my desk drawer right now because I told myself that if I was good, I can eat it this afternoon. I don't know why. I like to make myself live by arbitrary rules sometimes. Whatever, it gives me something to do.

It's funny how a delivery of food can change the entire atmosphere of the office. I'm not immune. Here I was, sitting in a Thursday slump at my desk, when my boss waltzes in with a basket full of cookies! Cookies! Cookies make everything better. I bet they cure all sorts of diseases (except diabetes), only doctors don't want us to know that because then we'd stop going to see them and if I've learned anything from Grey's Anatomy, it is that doctors are lonely, sad, whiny creatures who only want to be loved. Sometimes they want to be loved in storage closets, sometimes in the on-call room, SOMETIMES even in the stairwells or the elevator. Don't judge.

Last night, I got in bed with a book, set it aside, and turned on the TV, but I had some time to kill since Futurama hadn't started yet. LUCKILY, the US Open was on. Guess who was playing. Guess. Go on. I'll wait. OK, that's enough waiting. It was Andy Roddick. And Roger Federer. So hot right now. I don't know much (anything) about tennis, except that Federer is fun to say and I really like the sound the ball makes when they hit it. Heidi and I bought tennis rackets in an effort to learn how to play, but it turns out tennis is sort of hard so we gave up. Maybe we'll try again since the weather will soon not make me want to die every time I go outside.

I don't know why, but I have been having really weird, vivid dreams lately. Last night, I actually woke up as I was in the middle of one and while I was waking up, I flung the comforter off of the bed. No big deal, right, but the comforter had felt heavier than normal and that's because Phoebe had been lying on top of it and I accidentally threw her off of the bed with the comforter. I'd feel bad, but she bit me pretty hard last night and ALL I WAS TRYING TO DO was pet her. She really is pure evil.

Oh, you guys. I went running again last night. By myself. In the dark. Wearing my mp3 player. Heh. Not my smartest move, for a couple reasons. One, my legs hurt so much today that every time I walk down stairs, I have to stop myself from going, "ow . . . ow . . . ow," and so on. Two, I probably would have been pretty easy to kidnap last night on account of the sore legs and also I wasn't running very fast oh, and also, I had The Fratellis blasting at full volume in my ears. I promise to stop talking about running once it gets easier and I'm not sore all the time. Until then, at least it gives me something to complain about and I do love complaining ever so much (see above).

my brain is scary

The other night, I had a dream that I was running frantically around this really nice apartment/house type place. Seriously, it was beautiful. And huge. But there were no windows. And Tom Cruise was trying to lock me in this huge, beautiful house. Hence the frantic running.

When I woke up, I started to remember other details of the dream. Like that Tom Cruise was trying to lock me in this house with Jake Gyllenhaal. So I'm not sure why I was running. Why would anyone fight that? No idea.

Eventually, I ran away from Tom Cruise and got outside. Then he threw a skunk at me. It didn't spray me, though, which really pissed off Tom Cruise.

Oh my god. Do you see why I need your help?

It's Friday, I'm in love

Wanna know who I'm in love with? FRIDAY. I want to have Friday's babies and then hire a nanny to take care of Friday's babies so Friday and I can jet off to the Bahamas or Europe or wherever it is rich people go. Because you know Friday's loaded. He has a private jet. And an island. So I guess that's where we'll be going. I suppose the babies and the nanny can come, too. But I think the nanny is trying to steal Friday away from me. That slut. What she doesn't know is that I am not above kicking her in the babymaker SO HARD. True story.

Inexplicably, I am in a SPECTACULAR mood today. Well, I guess it's not inexplicable since it's Friday and all. That's pretty damn explicable. Also, I had a really good dream last night and I've found that not only do bad dreams stick with me all the livelong day, SO DO GOOD DREAMS. I guess that's my brains way of balancing out the crazy. Or something. I don't know what I'm talking about, is it obvious?

Funny story. Apparently I won a free makeover from Mary Kay. I guess I had entered some contest at the gym and I won. I vaguely remember entering it. I tend to enter any contest I come across just for the hell of it because I figure one of these days I'll win a million dollars or a car or something. It's bound to happen. So yeah. Free makeover. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to it. The lady used the words "pamper yourself" a lot and I'm not really sure what that entails.

I think Phoebe has an eating disorder. Whenever I walk into the kitchen, if she's at her bowl eating she immediately runs out of the room. Like she doesn't want anyone to see her eating. Also, sometimes she eats really fast and then vomits all over the floor. I think one day they'll make a Lifetime movie of her life. Kitty Bulimia: The Silent Killer, If By Silent You Mean Except For the Ungodly Retching Noise She Makes When She Vomits.

So. Wedding tomorrow. I still have not gotten the gift. Oops. HOWEVER, I do have my dress and shoes and purse and really isn't it more important that I take care of myself first? Does she want me showing up to her wedding in a garbage bag and Crocs? I don't have Crocs, don't worry. I also don't know what time we're leaving tomorrow, whether we're going to the hotel or the church first, or if I should get dressed before we leave Dayton or wait until we get to Cleveland. Details. Who said being prepared was important? Not me. Things have a way of working themselves out if I just ignore the problem long enough. HAHA. Again, no idea what I'm talking about.

OK, so I may have a tiny problem. I am wearing these really cute Steve Madden heels to the wedding tomorrow and I've worn them before and the left shoe has a tendency to slip off my heel sometimes when I'm walking. Also, there will be alcohol at this wedding. You see how this may be a problem. What can I do to fix this, Internets, besides wearing another pair of shoes? That is not an option. Don't suggest it or I'll yell at you. I'm a good yeller, too.

Also, will someone remind me to pack my camera tonight? Thanks in advance.

Can I tell you a funny story? You will laugh, if you are anything like me. I laughed for like twenty minutes. Hey! Why not make this a Conversation With My Roommate? Why NOT, I ask you? Let's live a little! Life on the edge, that's the stuff. I swear I have not been smoking anything. I SWEAR.

Heidi: So Nick called me at work earlier . . .
Me: He's on vacation with his family, right?
Heidi: Yes. And he told me something really funny.
Me: Oh yeah?
Heidi: Apparently, his little cousin was in the bathroom for a really long time and when they went in there they noticed that he'd pooped on the floor.
Me: HAHAHAHAHA!
Heidi: Wait, there's more.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Heidi: Not only did he poop on the floor, but he covered it with toilet paper.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

I'm not going to lie to you, Internets, I'm still laughing. Also! Look what was on Overheard in New York the next day:

Mom: Are you okay in there, sweetie?
Little girl in stall: I can't button my pants.
Mom: It's alright. Just come on out.
Little girl in stall: And I pooped on the floor.

HAHAHAHAHA!

Dear Self,

Grow up.

Love,
Jennie

And the people that I know, I hate you all. And the people that I don't, I hate you all.

You guys, I am such an anger ball today. I wouldn't talk to me if I were you. I think it's really because I had this horrible, horrible dream last night and it's been hanging over my head all day. It was so bad that it woke me up and then I couldn't fall back to sleep because I was FREAKING THE HELL OUT because almost being buried alive is scary. I'm assuming. It was in my dream, anyway.

So now instead of acting like a normal person today, I am listening to angry music and snapping at everyone and being an all-around bitch.

You know, more so than usual.

Yeah, and if you were the Pope they'd be all, "straighten your pope hat." And, "put on your good vestments."

I spend a very large quantity of time every day daydreaming. Usually while twirling the same strand of hair with a not-so-bright look on my face. It's becoming a problem. Sometimes the daydreams are so tangible that I feel like I could reach out and grab them or tumble forward and escape the constraints of my (admittedly comfy) desk chair into a more interesting world. And sometimes? I worry that I bypassed daydreaming altogether and fell asleep at my desk and wandered into a real dream.

This morning was the very first morning that I forgot to turn my cell phone ringer off at work. So imagine my surprise when I heard Johnny Cash's voice coming from my purse. I rushed to turn it off and prepared myself in case anyone wandered into my office. "Ring of Fire? I didn't hear any Ring of Fire. Crazy, get out of my office," is what I would have said. Earlier in the morning, when I was getting ready for work, my cell phone made that wonderful little trilling noise it makes when I have a text message. "Oh joy!" I exclaimed (no, I didn't). "A text message this early in the morning! Whoever could be texting me this early? I hope it's something delicious and good! Oh, phone, how I love you!" And forsooth, it was something good. That didn't make any sense, I just wanted to say "forsooth." I noticed the number began with 010 and there were like four million numbers after it, which usually means my friend Kate is text messaging me from AFRICA. That's right, she doesn't have electricity or indoor plumbing, but she has a cell phone. Anyway. I got excited! Because Kate! Was texting me! From AFRICA! Only, it wasn't from Kate, it was from some STRANGER and this is what it said:

Alec, I will be passing thru ekwendeni tmrw morning to pick up the papers. Will u be around? Pls text back.

Weird, right? I was going to answer it but then I realized that text messaging AFRICA might be expensive.

Anyway, so this afternoon I had to go to someone else's office so she could teach me how to do something and she had this space heater on and it was right after lunch and I'm always really sleepy right after lunch but it was even worse today because of the heater and she was also playing Rush Limbaugh on her radio and I kept hearing bits and pieces of his show and it was really hard to concentrate. On account of all the rage, you know? So I crossed my legs in the most uncomfortable position possible so I'd stay awake at least and when she was done talking I stood up and almost fell over because my foot had fallen asleep. At least they're all getting a taste of how I fall down all the time and am really clumsy, because the other day I smacked myself in the head with the file drawer I was opening. Then I went into my office and my new toner had come in. I had to order a new one because my printer was making these big black splotches all over everything I printed and, after he'd spent 25 minutes messing around with my printer, the IT guy told me my toner cartridge was busted. So today I changed it myself because I think it's stupid to call the IT department for stuff I'm perfectly capable of doing myself but then I got toner all over my hands and my desk and probably all over the floor, too, but I'm not sure because the carpet is so dark.

And as I was sitting there surreptitiously wiping toner off of my hands with every tissue I had left in the box, I started thinking I MUST have fallen to sleep. I was dreaming, right? These things don't happen to people. Most people don't almost fall into their coworkers laps, hit themselves in the head with drawers, or channel Johnny Cash from their purse but then I realized that HEY I'm probably not dreaming, I'm just stuck in a cartoon. Which is OK because I like cartoons. If I had to be stuck in a cartoon, I'd prefer to be stuck in Futurama because maybe I'd get to fly a spaceship and that is my dream.

And now that we've come full circle in the most ass-backwards way possible, I'm going to go watch The Office. GOOD TALK!

I’m always thinking one step ahead. Like a carpenter that makes stairs.

I have the day off tomorrow and here are the things I need to do:

go to the grocery
balance my checkbook
go to the gym
get a drug test (for new job, not because I was arrested or anything)
go to the library
fill out paperwork for new job
clean room and bathroom
do laundry (but laundry, I barely know you!)

Just looking at that list exhausts me. EXHAUSTS ME. Here is what I will probably end up doing instead:

sleeping in A LOT
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I haven't gotten around to watching yet
reading
eating thin mints
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I won't delete because I like to watch them over and over
reading some more

I may be able to throw in something like doing laundry or showering or going to the gym. But not everything on the first list. I don't have any plans this weekend (LO-SER) so I need to leave something for Saturday night. Ha! Just kidding. If I'm home Saturday night I'm going to buy a bottle of wine and get drunk by myself, because Heidi will be at her boyfriend's. I. Am SO. PSYCHED.

So last night I went to bed around 11:30 and slept the sleep of the dead until about 2 o'clock when I inexplicably woke up. Maybe not inexplicably. I think it was storming last night and that may have been about the time a giant thunderclap scared Phoebe and she used my stomach as a launching pad off of the bed. OW, CAT. Anyway, so the rest of the night (early morning?) I had the WEIRDEST DREAMS EVER. Like, in the one I remember? This guy and I kept breaking into churches to have sex. Dear Family: I am so sorry I just shared that with both you and the entire Internets. Anyway, I have no idea who this guy was or why we had to break into churches to have sex. I guess that makes me both a giant slut and a giant sinner. Also, this was really elaborate breaking and entering, that sometimes involved climbing trees or removing bars from windows or rappelling from the roof when a church security guard (or Jesus) got too close. I think someone needs to tell Dream!Jennie and Dream!Guy that a hotel room would be a lot more convenient and also probably safer. Except for the coffeemaker. I saw this thing on the news or the Internets (or I made it up and can't remember) that you shouldn't drink coffee out of hotel room coffeemakers because sometimes people use them to make meth. I can't even begin to imagine how you'd make meth in a coffeemaker and also I'm not exactly sure what meth is or does which makes me pretty confident that I'll pass that drug test tomorrow.

the girl with kaleidoscope eyes

You might want to stay away from me today. I am an anger ball. A tiny, hateful, twisted mass of vitriol ready to spring and cut you with evil, spiteful words and I don't think you want that.

I didn't sleep well last night, POSSIBLY from the combination of food (or food-type substances) I gorged myself with during the Super Bowl. I spent most of the night tossing and turning and during the bit I didn't spend tossing and turning I had the weirdest dreams I have ever had in the history of my life and no I will not be sharing them because some of them were borderline inappropriate and some of them? Not even borderline. And then, AND THEN, I spent the majority of this morning driving around the country looking for our new office. I was only lost for about half an hour of that time, though, but it was a scary half hour because I was almost out of gas so I kept picturing myself practically freezing to death on the side of the road until I was rescued by the male version of Kathy Bates who would take me back to his/her cabin in the dark, secluded woods and make me write him/her a novel and then smash my feet with a sledgehammer when I tried to escape and now I can't remember how it ends. I think Kathy Bates gets what's coming to her but I can't recall and I don't feel like looking it up. So there. Anyway, I did not freeze to death and I did find a gas station and I also found our new office even though I was half an hour late.

The brightest part of my day? I heard Sweet Caroline on the radio but it was at the office so I couldn't sing along like I normally do. Yes, I know how incredibly sad it is that that was the brightest part of my day but that is just the kind of day it's been. I am one frigid-cold morning away from flying south for the winter. Who wants to let me build a nest in their front yard? Or back yard, really. I'm not picky. It doesn't even have to be that warm. I'd settle for 50. OK, 35 even.

Defining The Crazy: Dream Edition

You guys, I'm seriously starting to worry about my brain. OK, so last night I dreamt that I was in a tornado and we all went to this big room in some building to sit through the storm. And who do I see sitting across from me but President George W. Douche, I mean, Bush. At first I tried to ignore him, but he wouldn't stop talking so I started arguing with him about Iraq and the troops and how Barack Obama would (HANDS DOWN) kick his ass at Trivial Pursuit and then he stormed out of the room and when he came back? He was wearing Scooby Doo pajama pants with his shirt, tie, and suit jacket and he came and stood in front of me and started yelling at me and saying I was mean so I started yelling at him and told him not to be childish and finally he sat down next to me and sighed, "I am NOT childish," and I said, "Really, George? Because Scooby Doo would beg to differ."

PS: My mom left the perviest comment EVER on this blog. And all I have to say is . . . I'm sorry if she offended your delicate sensibilities. I thought I raised her better than that.

who knows where thoughts come from, they just appear

Guys, I'm a little worried about my brain. I mean more so than usual. I've been having some pretty weird, vivid dreams lately. There was that whole "erasing of the books" thing the other night, and the night before last I dreamt that I had a baby, and I was changing its (don't even know if it was a boy or a girl, AWESOME) diaper in the front yard (?) and I realized I had forgotten something inside and while I was inside getting it someone kidnapped my baby. I spent the rest of the movie, I mean dream, trying to convince a hard-knock detective to help me search for it. I don't remember if we did or not. I think that dream just reiterates the fact that I'm not ready to have children. Thanks, brain, I already knew that. And last night, I dreamt that I went back to my high school as an assistant teacher and my old English teacher took me under her wing and told me all the school secrets. OK, as cool as it would be to get all the dirt on my former teachers, I think we can all agree that I should not be shaping the minds of future generations.

GUYS, guess what! I am done Christmas shopping, oh, and also wrapping presents. I finished it all yesterday and I didn't kill or maim one. Single. Person. Do you realize what this means? I have an entire week left until Christmas and I am completely ready! It's a Christmas miracle!

Maybe you don't understand what a big deal this is. Maybe you're underestimating how much I procrastinate. Well, on Saturday my friends and I did our gift exchange and one of the gifts (the one I gave, because I am an awesome gift-giver, suck it) was this game called Catchphrase. The game gives you a word or a phrase and you have to describe it and give hints without saying any of the words. Kind of like that game show. What's it called. Pyramid? I don't know. Anyway. I was in the kitchen playing beer bitch, when I hear Steph describing her word, "My name is Jennie and I do this a lot," [aside, things were said here that were borderline inappropriate] and anyway, in the end the answer was Procrastinate. So there! I've been used as a hint in a game, what have YOU ever done. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so cranky. Oh, right, Christmas. And it's Monday. I've been trying to force the Christmas spirit upon myself, with the Christmas decorating and the music and the giant tree up at The Greene, but it's not working. Maybe I'm trying too hard.

Saturday night after the gift exchange, we went to this kind of seedy bar where there was a mostly drunk band playing. I went to the bathroom and some guy wearing a sweatsuit and gold grill chased me in with shouts of "Ma'am! Hey, baby! Ma'am!" like, dude, even if you didn't have a sweatsuit and fake teeth you just Ma'amed me. That is so not a turn on.

Oh, no. I did that for someone once. I'm not comfortable having that kind of power and control over someone's life.

In case anyone was worried or wondering or doesn't really care but is mildly interested because it's Saturday morning/afternoon and really you're just killing time until you go to the bar? I found a gift for the gift exchange yesterday. Actually, Heidi told me to get it because I couldn't find anything I wanted for under $20 and I really, really didn't want to go to another store. It reminded me of a couple of months ago when I told Heidi and Mary they were in charge of all of my decisions. Really. Like that Friends episode. You know the one. Anyway, it was nice not to make decisions but then I realized it wasn't always necessarily producing the outcome I wanted. Actually, it really only lasted for a couple of decisions and then we completely forgot about it. Truth.

How sad is this? Last night, around midnight my parents stopped by on their way home from dinner and drinks. I was in my pajamas watching TiVo. On a Friday night. I don't care. Judge me all you want, my pajamas are way comfortable. Anyway, while they were here my dad fixed the chair that has been semi-erect for the past couple of months. My dad can MacGyver anything. Truth.

I am drinking coffee out of a Santa Claus coffee mug and I'm wondering where the hell it came from. I think it's mine. All the other coffee mugs were dirty and really it's a bit late in the morning to be drinking coffee but I don't care cause it's delicious. Want to know what else is delicious? Christmas cookies for breakfast. Truth.

Earlier this morning, my cell phone rang and a weird number came up. So I didn't answer it. I looked up the area code and it was somewhere in Texas. I don't know anyone in Texas. I was glad they called, though, because I was having a nightmare about this place where people could take books to get completely erased? And every time a book was erased the author of the book died. Because I have nightmares about books. Also zombies. ANYWAY. You know, I have this really bad habit of not answering my cell phone. Sometimes I worry that I'm missing an important call from like, someone from the future telling me how to stop the world from horribly exploding and thus preventing, you know, all the death and whatnot and then I realize I need to stop watching so much TV. Truth.

sweet dreams are made of this . . . whatever THAT means

Last night I dreamt that I put a hot tub in my room and when I woke up, my first thought was not, "Why are you dreaming about hot tubs, you freak?" oh no! My first thought was, "Hey, where the hell did my hot tub go?"

Don't tell me it's completely unrealistic to put a hot tub in my bedroom because there is TOTALLY enough room for one!

I measured.

No, I didn't.

But I could have.

I do, after all, have a tape measure.

You know, somewhere.