Children's Grief Awareness Day: November 21st, 2013

Tuesday night, on my way home from volunteering, I was listening to the all-Christmas radio station and then BOOM suddenly I was crying.

I was not all that surprised.

Christmas music always makes me think of my grandma. Grandma died three years ago, on October 15th, 2010, a day that feels like both yesterday and a million years ago. Sometimes, in weak moments, moments when I'm tired or caught off guard because I see something Grandma would have thought was funny, I forget that she's gone, even. How is that possible?

I've been volunteering with Oak Tree Corner, a children's grief group, for six years now, so I understand that the the stages of grief are not something that can be charted. It's not like, OK, I will be in denial for a week and then angry for three weeks and I will bargain for just a few days, but I'll be depressed for three months, and then I will enter acceptance and will be done grieving for this person forever. CASE CLOSED.

I know that's not how it works. I understand, logically, that the grieving process is a dark and convoluted mess, a twisted timeline that loops back in on itself and starts and stops depending on mood or circumstance. And yet I'm still surprised when I find myself weeping quietly in the car along to the sweet sounds of Karen Carpenter singing, "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

And I'm lucky. With the exception of my younger cousin and a friend's brother from college, the deaths in my life have been due to old age or after a long illness. They've been grandparents and great-aunts and uncles, a beloved pet, sad still, of course, but not altogether unexpected.

So when I go to Oak Tree Corner and I hear some of the things these kids are struggling with, I realize just how lucky I am. My grandma was a twin, identical, and I remember how confusing it was, emotionally, when I saw her twin for the first time, just before the funeral. So when I hear a story of a child struggling with something similar, but like, times 100, it makes me wonder just how else I could be helping. Because if I was confused, how confused was that kid, you know?

These are the things I find myself thinking about today, on Children's Grief Awareness Day, and as we approach the holidays. The holidays are pretty much universally acknowledged to be the worst time of year for those grieving a recent loss. They really throw into stark relief just what's missing from your life, in a way that you might be able to ignore at any other time of year. Family traditions that the person was a part of no longer hold the same joy. It feels wrong or at least...off in some way to continue them without that person you loved so dearly.

It does get easier as the years go on, but it still hurts. The fresh slice of pain, blade-sharp, that took your breath away that first year fades to a dull ache as the years pass. It never stops hurting, though. It just hurts in a new way.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about Oak Tree Corner and the kids there. And yet I still always feel like there's more I could be doing. If only I thought about myself less, tried a little harder, gave a little more...yada yada yada. Everyone feels like that, though, like there's more they could be doing, because there IS always more we could be doing. So, today feels like a good day to renew my efforts a bit, to pledge to do more next year than I did this past year, and to look for new ways to help.

Join me? 

You can also find a list of children's grief support groups throughout the US on the National Alliance for Grieving Children's website.

WARNING: this post is heavy on the caps lock SORRY BUT GET OVER IT

So already I've thought of at least one resolution I should have made and that is GET OUT OF BED ON TIME, DUMBASS. I don't know what my deal is. I used to set my alarm and get out of bed at that time every day, knowing that I'd have exactly enough time to get everything done I needed to, namely: brush teeth, shower, pack lunch, grab breakfast/coffee/etc, TELL MAX HE IS SUCH A GOOD BOY and also WHAT A CUTE PUPPY FACE HE HAS. But lately, not only am I not getting out of bed on time, but I'm waking up in the middle of the night and CHANGING MY ALARM. What is that? And then! I just wander around the house for a while, in between pieces of the whole GETTING READY project, and sometimes I get back in bed so I can cuddle Max or Phoebe because THAT IS IMPORTANT FOR LIFE. 

My body already didn't want to get out of bed because it was dark and cold, but it was even worse this morning because I've been eating every kind of junk food imaginable lately, just because it's there and it's easier than trying to think of something healthier to cook WHICH IS A TOTAL LIE because you know what would be healthier? ANYTHING. And ANYTHING includes scrambled eggs or a PBJ sandwich, both of which take less effort than picking up the phone to order pizza. Though. That's not entirely true, because Joe always calls to order the pizza. Hmm.

Going back to work today was HELLA NOT FUN and I'm sorry for just saying "hella." I don't think I've ever said or typed that before so I'm not sure why that's the way I'm starting 2013 on my blog. WTF. Anyway. You know what was not fun about today? I had to get up at a certain time (even if it didn't end up being exactly ON TIME), the temperature when I left home was 14 degrees, and this is how I spent my days while on break: eating, drinking, sitting in pajamas, watching Doctor Who, going to the movies. I don't get to do any of that at work! Except eat. And I can drink, but only stuff like water or soda, no wine or whiskey.

Today's not all bad, though, NO IT IS NOT. My sister turned 27 today (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SISTER!) but it took me a long time this morning to think of how old she was going to be. You see, because in my head, she's still, like, 21 but that's only because in my head, I'm still 25. When I realized she was going to be 27, I THEN realized that I am turning 31 in just a few months! I realized a lot of things, I know. It's been a pretty crazy day. I don't know why turning 31 seems scarier than turning 30 but it does. It's not the age part of it, really, I think it's just that SERIOUSLY I JUST TURNED 30. I haven't even gotten used to being 30 yet! I still think of myself as a twenty-something, which hasn't been true for 8 months now. STOP MOVING, TIME, AND LET ME CATCH UP. Jerk.

I don't have a point, really (SHOCKER). Just that it's only the second day of the year and I already feel like I'm behind.

"There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them."

Do you ever think about how terrible it would be not to know how to read? I mean, maybe you don't think about it all. Maybe you're one of those people who only reads magazines IF THAT and you don't understand why a person would check out 15 books from the library when she knows there's no way she can read that many books in two weeks or why she'd go to a used book sale and buy two giant paper bags worth of books even though she has absolutely no more bookshelves in her house NOT THAT I'M SPEAKING FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OR ANYTHING THIS IS ALL HYPOTHETICAL.

What was I talking about? Oh, right, reading. What if you didn't know how to read? You wouldn't be reading this, for one thing. You probably wouldn't even be on the internet, because the internet is so full of words.

(Oh wait, never mind, the internet is also full of porn and cat pictures. Go about your business, you non-reader, you.)

Say you couldn't read and I typed something like this: Hector the pink elephant was tightrope-walking with Kurt Vonnegut's ghost (who was wearing a tutu because he discovered in his afterlife that he really wanted to be a ballerina) when a 200 pound bee flew in and stung them FIVE TIMES and they both fell off the tightrope but it didn't matter because Hector landed on a giant trampoline and Kurt Vonnegut is a ghost REMEMBER and falling really far doesn't hurt ghosts, no, in fact, THEY LOVE IT and they do it for fun all the time. It's true. Ask any ghost. I'll wait.

YOU WOULD HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. Aren't you glad you can read? Yes, obviously, you are, OMG do I have to do all the thinking around here?

My grandma used to read all the time before she started having memory problems and then she mostly stopped because she couldn't remember anything she'd read the time before. A lot of things about my grandma's situation made me really sad, on a daily basis, but that was a total gut-punch because who would anticipate that? I'm not trying to get all dark and depressing, not at all, but it was something I'd never considered before it happened to my grandma. That you'd lose that ability. No more flying around with Harry Potter, no daily walks with Elizabeth Bennet or cocktails with Bridget Jones or saving books with Guy Montag, just NOTHING BUT REAL LIFE. And real life is the worst, even if you aren't suffering from dementia, able to remember events from twenty years ago but unable to figure out what happened in the last twenty minutes.

My grandma has been on my mind a lot lately, probably because of all the Christmas music, but I often think of her when I'm reading, about how I might not love books as much as I do if she and my parents hadn't encouraged me to read, hadn't gotten me all the books I wanted, hadn't so often left me alone to just BE with my books. Most days, when I get home from work, I change into pajamas and plop down in what's become my favorite room of the house. We call it the library (because it's where the books live) but my sister calls it The Quiet Room because there's no TV in there, which she thinks is weird. But it is quiet and the afternoon sunlight streams in and I can stretch out on the couch, facing the window, with a book in my hands and a dog in my lap and, once Joe gets home, it's the happiest part of my day. 

So, anyway. Have you hugged your books today?

(trying to) let it be

I can't remember if I've mentioned this here (probably not because I tend to forget to announce important things in favor of, like, talking about Community non-stop), but my sister-in-law is pregnant WITH TWINS, who Joe and I have nicknamed Troy and Abed (see?).

Well. Earlier this week, Julie's water broke, which is a problem because she's only 25 weeks along. She's in the hospital right now, not in labor (I guess they stop it with magic or something?), but she has to stay there until the wee babies are born. Which will hopefully not be for a good, long while. Still, that means that Julie has to spend the holidays in a hospital room, which is just all around stinky. So, if you're the praying kind, please do that, if you're more comfortable with thinking good thoughts, then think all of them! And if you'd like to send Julie a note or a funny link or something to while away the hours, email me and I'll make sure she gets your kind words. Thanks, Internets!

I'm trying this new thing where I don't let myself freak out about stuff. Which is...different and only mildly successful when I get news like the above. When I woke up this morning, though, my radio alarm was playing Let It Be and so I've decided to adopt it as my DON'T FREAK OUT mantra.

Also, I'm trying to stop yelling DON'T FREAK OUT at myself when I'm freaking out. So there's that.

I ain't good-looking but I'm someone's child

Last night, I mooched dinner off my parents for the second night in a row. I could have gone for a triple tonight, but I need to stay home and work. And by work, what I mean is sit and pretend to write while I surf the Internets and watch YouTube videos.

When I got to my parents' house, I (of course) started bugging my sister and I can't remember what we were talking about but I do know that it ended with her shouting, "fuck you!"

Mom: I'm not sure I'm OK with that. Apologize to your sister.
Sister: [blah blah yelling and indignation]
Me: Heh.

Then I followed my mom around while she straightened up the house and I . . . watched.

Me: So Dad said you guys aren't coming to watch us in the race.
Mom: When is it?
Me: Mom. It's on. Thanksgiving.
Mom: Oh, what time?
Me: 8 in the morning.
Mom: What? Fuck you!

Awesome. So my sister and my mom said "fuck you" to me in the span of two minutes. I told my mom it was all kinds of rude and her response was, "well, just be glad the dog can't talk."

If I run uphill I'm outta breath, if I spend all of my money, then I've got no money left. If I place all of my chips on only one bet, I'm all in.

Good morning, Internets. How is everyone this morning? I woke up and my room was FREEZING. FREE-ZING. I slept with my window wide open last night and apparently it snowed or something because my room felt like an icebox. I had to put pants on, it was so cold. I mean, I was already wearing shorts. But I had to dig my pajama pants out of the drawer. That's how cold it was. Oh my god. This is so boring I want to jump out the window.

[sidebar: this is going to be a long one (that's what she said) so good luck making it all the way through . . . do you have some water? a map? mind-altering drugs? good]

Anyway, so that's why I'm drinking coffee right now. Well, that and coffee is my bitch mistress lover. I don't know. Also, I'm drinking it out of this:


Siiiiiiiigh. Yeah, um, I'm pretty happy I can drink out of it at home because I can't take it to work and I'd hate for that $1 to go to waste. Here is why I cannot take it to work. The head of our IT department is named Jim and he would tease me mercilessly if he saw that sitting on my desk. Although, he pretty much teases me mercilessly anyway, so maybe it wouldn't matter all that much. Eh. Whatever.

Last night, I went running and a turkey buzzard DIVEBOMBED MY HEAD! I thought I was going to die. Seriously, it was like half my size and it could fly so I think it had the advantage. I'm not sure why it divebombed my head. Maybe it thought I was a squirrel? But I'm pretty sure turkey buzzards only eat dead animals. Oh my god, you guys, do I look like a dead squirrel? You'd tell me if I looked like a dead squirrel, right? Anyway, then a couple of blocks later I almost got hit by a police car because I didn't look before I crossed the street and also I can't hear cars when I'm running on account of the loud music blasting in my ears. But if you're going to get hit by a vehicle and it's NOT an ambulance, I really think a police car is the way to go.

SO! Internets. Spoon is coming to Cincinnati soon and I knew this a couple of weeks ago but I talked myself out of going because Heidi and I have to get up early the next morning and drive to Cleveland for another freaking wedding and I thought it'd be irresponsible to go to a concert and come home late the night before but then I realized I DON'T CARE because GODDAMMIT, I'M ONLY 25 AND I'LL DO WHAT I WANT AND WHAT I WANT TO DO IS GO SEE SPOON IN CINCINNATI, SLEEP BE DAMNED! DAMNED, I SAY! Ahem. Anyway. So I'm going to that. The best part is, I don't have to go by myself because Three-hole-punch Steve likes Spoon, too, and I might even be able to talk Heidi into going if I tell her she'll get to make Spoon and Fork and Knife jokes all night. Spoon! Heidi makes fun of all the music I like. See:

Heidi: What CD do you have there?
Me: Shiny Toy Guns.
Heidi: Your music is so violent.
Me: No, it's not.
Heidi: Yes, it is. Shiny Toy Guns are dangerous.
Me: They're toys. And what about The Postal Service. That's not dangerous.
Heidi: Yeah-huh, cause Shiny Toy Guns are what The Postal Service uses to shoot people when they go crazy.
Me: Oh yeah? How about Rilo Kiley? Do something with that I DARE YOU.
Heidi: OK, fine.
Me: Hey. You know what kind of cab you'd ride in if you were a cutie?
Heidi: Heh. What?
Me: A DEATH CAB.

This took place in Target because Heidi and I like to put on short, one act plays for the other Target patrons. I think they like it. Later, we caught the tail end of The Office (not at Target) and had this conversation (with my roommate, duh):

Heidi: I haven't seen the season finale since it was on back in May.
Me: Um, yeah, me neither.
Heidi: Yeah, right. How many times have you watched it since then?
Me: I don't know. Only a couple.
Heidi: More than five times?
Me: No!
Heidi: More than four?
Me: . . .
Heidi: Ha!

And anyway, I think I accidentally lied because I may have seen it way more than five times but who can keep track of that sort of thing?

Since I've veered into conversation territory, let's just keep going, shall we? I called my mom last night because we're supposed to go to my aunt's today to have a party for my cousin. And no one ever tells me anything so I needed to know what time to be there and why were even having it in the first place. And now! CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER:

Mom: I got Cousin a card.
Me: A card for what?
Mom: You know, just to show our support for his decision and everything.
Me: What? What decision?
Mom: Oh, he joined the army.
Me: HE DID WHAT?!
Mom: He joined the army.
Me: IS HE RETARDED?!
Mom: Jesus, Jennie, your dad can hear you through the phone.
Me: Sorry. But seriously. What?
Mom: Yeah, your aunt isn't too happy about it, but we should be supportive.
Me: I guess. I'm glad you told me now and not tomorrow in front of everyone.
Mom: Yes, I don't think they would have appreciated your reaction.

True story. I don't ACTUALLY think my cousin is retarded for joining the army DURING WAR TIME. I gave my brain some time to think about it and my brain decided that the only reason I had that reaction was because, um, the army is dangerous? Did I mention war time? And I'm just worried. The army and I are totally fighting right now. AND I don't care if they have tanks and bazookas and nunchucks, I CAN TAKE THEM. Anyway, if you're thinking of joining the army and someone in your life calls you a retard, don't worry, it's only because they love you.

spider pig, spider pig, does whatever a spider pig does, can he swing, from a web, no he can't, cause he's a pig

Yesterday, I was kind of like the opposite of Santa Claus. My aunt and mom both said I could come over and raid their bookshelves for stuff to donate to Books for Soldiers through work, because today was the last day. Until they do it again. Or something. I was kind of confused. SURPRISE SURPRISE.

Anyway, so I went to my aunt's first and she gave me a huge bag of books. Easy. I didn't even have to come down the chimney. Then I went to The House of My Parents. My dad was out of town, but he told my mom I could take any of his books that weren't part of a series. He was going to take them all to Half Price Books to sell them anyway, but I swooped in with my sob story about bored soldiers and stole the books from the bookstore. Haha! Take that, Half Price Books! I'm sorry, was that mean? Whatever, they get enough of my money anyway.

So there I am, sitting on the floor in front of the bookcase, pulling book after book from the shelves and I was getting more and more verklempt because I was getting rid of SO MANY BOOKS. I just kept saying, "Are you sure? All of these? Really? What if Dad wants to reread them? BUT WHAT IF HE MISSES THEM?!?" until my mom called my dad so I could hear straight from him that it was OK. I'm not kidding, you guys, it physically hurt me to get rid of that many books at one time AND THEY WEREN'T EVEN MY BOOKS. Clearly, I have a problem. That is news to no one, I'm sure.

The troops weren't the only ones that made out like bandits. Does anyone else think the phrase "made out like bandits" is kind of confusing? I mean, sure, it could just sound like you got a lot of free shit, but it also kind of sounds like the bandits are, I don't know, making out. Like with lips and stuff. You know?

What was I saying? Oh, right. Not only did I get free Chinese food last night (my fortune: you have an unusually magnetic personality . . . thank you, fortune cookie, but THAT IS NOT A FORTUNE TELL MY FUTURE RIGHT NOW), but my mom also sent me home with a pair of flip flops, some sneakers, a pair of shorts, and best of all, a bottle of wine. Heidi and I thank you, mother.

So I had all these books, right? And I had to take them to work this morning. And there were a lot of them. My mom said I should look for a guy in the parking lot to carry them for me and Heidi suggested I wear a low-cut shirt and use my cleavage to rustle up some man-slaves, but when I got to work this morning there were no mans in the parking lot. So I carried them all in myself, but that's fine because I don't like asking for help anyway. If my hair was on fire and I was surrounded by firemen with big hoses (heh), the most I could probably muster would be, "um, excuse me, sir, but could I bother you to point your hose in my direction?" Again, heh. That got weird. I'm sorry. That happens a lot here and I don't know how.

Anyway, so a little while after I had dumped all the books in the donation bin, I remembered that I had also thrown some magazines in there. Magazines with my name and address on them. I mean, I'm assuming they remove any addresses if they see them. But just in case(s), I warned Heidi that we might end up with some random Army men (not the little green plastic ones) and Marines on our front step. She seemed OK with it.

Life can be so fair, let it go on and on

Do you guys ever have those weeks where every day you come home from work and want to immediately crawl into bed and pull the covers over your head? I'm having one of those weeks. Only it's more like I get out of bed in the morning and want to turn right around and crawl back in. Whatever. Semantics.

I haven't given into this desire, though. Oh, no, I have not! Instead I come home, make dinner, read, watch TV, go to the gym, blah blah yadda yadda. You guys know how I like to entertain myself by making up scenarios in my head when I'm bored, right? I'm beginning to think it's getting to the point where it's not healthy. Like the life I'm inventing in my head is a lot better than the one I'm living. How do I switch that? If life really was like Choose Your Own Adventure (psst, Kat, hee), I'm pretty sure I've willingly made some of the stupidest choices possible. Like, you know how you would read those books and when it came time to choose between A and B, you'd look ahead, right? I did anyway. Well, it's like that, only I'm still choosing A when I already looked a head and A is like, the long, lonely path of loneliness and B is . . . I don't know, marrying Jake Gyllenhaal and then winning a million dollars that you turn around and give to charity because you don't NEED a million dollars because you just married Jake Gyllenhaal. My brain is all, "Choose B! B is good! B is the smart choice . . . trust me. I'm your brain. When have I ever let you down before?" And then I go ahead and choose A and when I look back on all the choices I've made the past couple of months, I don't necessarily think they were the wrong ones, I just wonder what would have happened if I'd picked B a couple times.

Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Because I don't even know. Oh well. So in the whole spirit of not crawling into bed at 5:30 every night this week, I made sure I called my mom tonight to wish her a happy birthday. Because it's her birthday. Makes sense, if you think about it. It's also their anniversary. My parents. Duh. They got married on my mom's birthday, which was really smart of my dad because it's only one date he has to remember. Although, like my mom told me earlier, he's totally screwed if he forgets that one date. My parents are on vacation up at Niagara Falls (the Canadian side) because even though they've been together since high school and married for 107 years, they still want to hang out ALL THE TIME. Doesn't that just make you want to throw up? I blame them for the fact that I'll probably never get married, because I don't want to get married unless it's to someone I'll still look forward to hanging out with in 107 years. And sure, that might happen, but the odds of me finding someone who can put up with me for 107 years? Not good.

In my opinion, we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks.

You guys, I got up so early this morning. I got up at NINE. Which, OK, is way later than I get up on any other day, but it's Saturday. Of course, I went to bed super early last night because I was tired, oh, and also really, really lame. I was watching a movie (Little Children) and almost had to stop in the middle because I kept nodding off. Not that I didn't enjoy the movie, but part of me was all, "you've read the book, this movie is happening exactly like the book did, why are you bothering to watch this?" And the answer is that I have a girl crush on Kate Winslet and would watch anything she is in. For serious. I've even seen that movie when she and her friend bash in her friend's mom's head with a rock. Weird.

So, I went and got my hair cut earlier. I think I like it, but I can't shake the suspicion that I kind of look like Susie, Calvin's nemesis from Calvin & Hobbes. However, this could be a result of me reading those books, um, all the freaking time when I was younger.

After I got MY hair cut, I went and picked up my sister because, as it turns out, she had an appointment ON THE SAME DAY, only like two hours later. I sat around with my parents, mooched a bagel and coffee, and watched something on the Discovery channel about sea otters (they fought off a CROCODILE, you guys! It was awesome!) until my sister woke up and got ready. Which she finally did. Eventually.

Me: Did you brush your hair?
Sister: YES!
Me: Oh. OK.
Dad: What difference does it make? She's on her way to get it cut.
Me: I mean, it's just all sticking up in the back.
Sister: Fine, I'll brush it again.
Mom: Don't let her cut too much of the back.
Sister: What?
Mom: It'll stick up if you do. You don't want to look like Spike Lee.
Sister: . . .
Dad: . . .
Me: Mom, Spike Lee is black and doesn't have any hair.
Mom: Oh, I meant Alfalfa.
Me: Sure, because Alfalfa . . . Spike Lee . . . totally similar.
Dad: I will look forward to seeing this on your blog later.

While I was waiting for my sister, I went to the used bookstore (books bought: Anna Karenina, Tropic of Cancer, In America) and Target to buy some floor mats for Sasha. When I was paying for my stuff, the cashier noticed that the lady in front of me had forgotten a bag. I grabbed my bags and walked quickly out to the parking lot. I saw the lady getting into her car so I ran over and started waving. I wonder what she thought I was doing at first? I mean, I doubt her first thought was "oh god, this crazy girl in the Dunder-Mifflin t-shirt and flip flops who looks like Susie Derkins is going to mug me!" so who knows what she thought I was going to do.

"Ma'am, I think you were in front of me in line in there and you forgot a bag," is what I said. Then I noticed a cashier walking up behind me with her bag. The lady thanked me, the cashier thanked me, and I no problemed them because seriously? It was mostly on the way to my car anyway. And also I'm trying this new thing where instead of acting like an asshole all the time, I do nice things for people. That never turns out bad, right? Except for that Haley Joel Osment movie. That was complete crap.

Oh, that's great. I wrote a hit play and directed it, so I'm not sweating it either.

Does anyone else make themselves live by completely arbitrary rules? I do, if only to give my life the appearance of order. Like, say, on the weekends? If I wake up after 11:30, I'm not allowed to have coffee. Because, in my mind (scary place), coffee time is over at 11:30. Well, really, it's because if I wake up at 11:30, by the time I roll out of bed, brush my teeth, and get around to actually making said coffee, it's already after noon by the time the coffee is done. And I just don't drink coffee after noon. No, I don't know why.

Along the same lines, I also don't let myself eat lunch before noon. I don't care if I didn't eat the day before and I'm starving and my stomach is growling so loud that a small child just ran away screaming because he thought a tiny cheetah was going to burst forth from my insides, I make myself wait until the clock says 12:01. It's kind of like when I babysat my cousins all summer . . . they'd never want to eat breakfast so by the time 10:30 rolled around they were ready for lunch. Well, since I was a Lunch Nazi I'd make them wait until at least 11 because SERIOUSLY? You cannot eat lunch at 10:30. NO. FREAKING. WAY. This meant that around 10:45 each day I'd start hearing, "Jennie, can we eat lunch? Pleeeeaaaase?" and I'd say no and so they'd sit in front of the clock and the minute it was 11 I'd be ushered into the kitchen by two hungry and irate children. I didn't and DON'T care. Eating lunch before 11 is abnormal and I think their parents would agree with me. Also, for some reason my younger cousin never wanted to get dressed. I don't really blame him, because who DOESN'T like to spend all day in their pajamas? But I don't think my aunt would have been too happy to come home at 3 o'clock and find him sprawled out on the sofa in his Superman underwear watching Step by Step. For several reasons. ANYWAY.

Right, so other arbitrary rules include: no getting back into bed after showering in the morning (because I WILL fall back to sleep), no water after 10 PM (I have a tiny bladder NO SERIOUSLY like minuscule), no using my credit card for charges under $10, oh and also, no beer before liquor. That is the most important one.

I know it's strange to make up silly rules for myself, but trust me when I say, it feels so SO good to break them.

suddenly i see

Mom: So how'd your date go the other night?
Me: Oh, great, but he moved to Georgia the next day.
Mom: Way to go!
Me: Hey now, he was moving there before I met him.
Mom: That's not what I meant. Although, Jennie, why do you get involved with guys who don't live in the same state as you?
Me: Um.

It was one of those throw away comments, a joke really, that I haven't quite been able to get out of my head. Until I realized that I know exactly why I do that. Because there's little to no chance of a future, and yet it still gives me an excuse to not get attached to someone who lives, say, ten minutes away from me, that I might have to see every day. Because it's hard to hide The Crazy from someone you see every day. Just ask Heidi.

Anyway. Enough of that. This weekend marked the celebration of my sister turning 21. Friday after work was the celebration with the family.

Coworker: Ooh, you changed out of your scrubs, where are you going?
Me: To meet my family at a bar.
Coworker: . . .
Me: See you Monday!

And when I say "meet my family," I mean most of my aunts and uncles and my godfather as well as some friends of my parents who might as well BE family. Particularly Larry, who my dad has known since . . . I don't know, they were fetuses or whatever. As always, he asked me how things were going.

Larry: So, Jennie, how are you? No husbands? No babies?
Me: No, thank god.
Mom: No, Larry, I was a good mother and taught my girls about birth control.
Larry: Birth control, not self control, right?
Mom: Well, that is a very important difference.
Me: I'm leaving now.

Later my mom explained to Heidi and me how we'd know when we'd met the right guy which totally isn't fair because she met my dad when she was in junior high or something. WHAT. EVER. Also, she told me all sorts of family secrets. Don't ask her if she remembers, though, because judging by all the empty wine glasses that were sitting on our table, she totally doesn't.

Happy Birthday, sister!

Today my little sister turns 21. Let us all welcome her to the world of binge drinking . . . I mean, adulthood.

But you ain't got no legs, Lieutenant Dan.

I would like to introduce you, Internets, to the Greatest Christmas Present In All The Land:

Yes, it is a mini-ping-pong table. Yes, it is MY mini-ping-pong table. Actually, it's technically called Keg Pong (yes, my parents bought me a drinking game for Christmas) but on the box it says "You can also play Ping-Pong!" which my dad and I did, until breakfast was ready because cinnamon rolls beat ping-pong HANDS DOWN KICKS ITS ASS. Ahem.

ALSO, I got this:


to replace THIS:

so I no longer have to do THIS:

I feel kind of bad for replacing the MacGyver Coffeemaker for a younger, newer, sleeker model, but . . . OK, no I don't. This means I don't have to run out to the kitchen in a towel, still dripping wet from my shower, in order to strategically place a tiny piece of tape over the on/off switch so it is held in the exact right position. Pain in the ass. Anyway. I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas and Santa was good to you. Also, I hope you managed to catch at least 14 hours of A Christmas Story because nothing says Christmas more than a Red Ryder BB Gun. Except maybe this:


Yep. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like Red Sangria. From a box.

You seem a little irritable, Kyle. You got some sand in your vagina?

For some reason I woke up at 8:30 this morning. ON A SATURDAY. That is so not right and really unlike me. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that I went to bed before midnight last night. That is so not right and also, again, really unlike me. I blame the cold medicine. The cold medicine is being blamed for a lot. Unusual sleeping patterns, long rants that go nowhere, hitting that old man with my car. Really, none of it is my fault.

Remember that one time I went to Chicago for New Year's Eve? Well, we're doing it again, only this time Mary lives in the city so who knows what will happen.

I'm killing time now before I go get my hair cut. Usually this is a painful process, but this time I am prepared. A couple nights ago I went over to my parents' house with a bunch of different hair style pictures so my mom could help me pick one. Because this is the kind of decision I am incapable of making for myself and left to my own devices I wait until I am in the salon and pick the first picture that appeals to me. That is not a decision that should be made so hastily. My dad asked why I was getting my hair cut when I had already decided to let it grow and I had to SIGH try and explain the crazy girl hair rules that you need to cut your hair to make it grow faster and then my mom told me not to waste my time because HELLO Dad doesn't have any hair. Which seemed a little harsh to me, but they've been married for 26 (right?) years so they must be doing something right. Anyway. What was I talking about? Oh, right, my hair.

Screw it, it's not important. After I get my hair cut I'm going over to my grandma's to celebrate Christmas with my dad's side of the family. I kind of hope everyone left the board games at home this year*, last year things got a little out of hand.

*No, I don't. BRING IT.

Merry Christmas, assholes! (just kidding, I love you guys)

For some reason I have been listening to Christmas music whenever I have the radio on, in an attempt to force the Christmas spirit down my throat. It's not really working, partly because of Delilah (click here to read my thoughts on that slutbag) but also because for every song that comes on that I do like, there are like three others that make me want to shove something rusty and sharp in my ear. Songs such as "The Christmas Shoes," for instance, about the guy who gets suckered into buying some shoes for this kid's dying mother so she looks good when she meets Jesus. I wish the guy had bought the kid some food or some therapy instead. Jesus doesn't care what kind of shoes you wear when you get to heaven. Did Jesus even wear shoes? Sandals? And where is this kid's dad? Poor kid's just out wandering random stores (I picture him at Wal-mart) by himself on Christmas Eve? WTF? Also, it's kind of presumptuous for that kid to assume his mom is going to Heaven. Like, maybe he should be buying her some slutty, red heels if you know what I'm saying and I think you do. (I think that comment just got me a permanent spot on the Naughty List . . . FINALLY)

Another song I hate? That one about the Soldier's Silent Night or whatever? Where the old guy like recites a poem along to some slow, sad music. SHUT UP, old guy! This has less to do with the actual content of the song and more to do with my absolute hatred of people slow talking along to music and calling it a song.

Frosty the Snowman? I hate that cold, snowy bastard, too. He comes to life when you give him a hat? Does that not scare the shit out of anyone else? Judge me all you want, but he is like a SNOW ZOMBIE. The only way to kill him is to take off his hat or, you know, make the sun come out. That song makes me want to go on a rampage with a blowtorch, melting carefully constructed snowmen as I go before they can spontaneously reanimate themselves.

I also hate the little drummer boy. Who the hell plays the drums for a BABY? I bet Mary had just gotten Jesus to go to sleep and then this little asshole comes in with a drum and wakes him up. Do you think just because he's the son of God he doesn't need his sleep? Well, you are WRONG.

The song I loathe the most, though? The 12 Days of Christmas, which does, in fact, last twelve days. Every time I hear "five golden rings" all stretched out and loud and obnoxious I want to drive my car into a ditch. I will give special exception to the Muppet version, but that's only because I heart Beaker. WHO DOESN'T?

Um. OK, I know I sound like a total Grinch right now, but I can't help it. It's genetic. It's not that there aren't songs that fill my three-sizes-too-small heart with joy, they're just few and far between the songs that make me want to kill someone. If you see a murderous look in my eye, simply play one of the following songs:

• Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
• The Hippo Song (duh)
• I don't know, whatever song that was in Sleepless in Seattle that Meg Ryan was singing in the car? I don't remember what it was, I just like singing "horses, horses, horses, horses" WOW
• The Mariah Carey tour de force, All I Want for Christmas Is You (it's true)
• O, Holy Night, but only sung by Cartman

and I will be lulled to a calm, deep sleep. See? I'm not a complete Grinch. Yet.

PS: My mom commented on my blog. Because my parents are cool like that. Sometimes I think of the kind of stuff I write on here knowing most of my family is going to read it and I wonder how much farther over the line I'd go if they didn't read it. We're probably better off not knowing.

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.

Conversations With My Mother

Or, My Stupidity Reaches New Levels . . .

Me: I have to go to Bath & Body Works to buy a gift.
Mom: Ooh.
Me: Yeah, our work gift exchange is tomorrow and I haven't gotten my person a gift yet.
Mom: Jennifer Lynn.
Me: I know.
Mom: You know, procrastinating won't make it go away.
Me: I've been busy!
Mom: Uh-huh.
Me: Whatever, I have.
Mom: Which Bath & Body Works are you going to?
Me: Probably the one in Town & Country, cause I don't want to fight the assholes at the Dayton Mall right now. I'm pretty tired.
Mom: Jennie . . .
Me: Town & Country won't be too busy, right?
Mom: Jennie.
Me: What?
Mom: Why don't you go to the Bath & Body Works at The Greene?
Me: Oh, you mean that really cute mall that is right by my apartment and on my way home?
Mom: Yes.
Me: Because I forgot there was one in there.
Mom: Thought so.
Me: What's even worse is I was there last night and walked by Bath & Body Works at least twice.
Mom: Oh, Jennie.
Me: Please don't tell anyone how stupid I am.
Mom: OK.
Me: Cause I want to do it.

And then? When I got to The Greene? I walked around and around and around because I couldn't remember where the store was even though last night we walked around and around and around the entire place and I should have had the layout memorized. I even checked the information map and still couldn't find it. I mean, if the map had said "next to the elephant statues covered in twinkly lights that Heidi dared you to climb" then I could have easily found it BUT IT DIDN'T SAY THAT.

Also, I was just wrapping presents so I thought I'd turn on some Christmas music to get me, YOU KNOW, in the mood. I don't know if you have Delilah in your neck of the woods, but her show is on the All Christmas Station right now (ALSO SHE SUCKS AND I HATE HER) and I began to suspect that the Christmas music wasn't having the intended effect on my mood when I told Delilah to, and I quote, "shut the fuck up and play fucking jingle bells."

I wish turkey only cost a nickel

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. I was pretty tired last night from the near-constant eating and was comatose before midnight. What. A. Loser.

And in case anyone was wondering (and don't pretend you weren't), I did NOT forget the rolls. Here is proof:

They look like little butts, right? Tell the truth. It was entirely unintentional, I promise, but a very welcome addition to the Thanksgiving table.

In other butt news, I bought new underwear today. Don't be jealous of my exciting life. Or my butt's exciting life, for that matter. Never mind.

What is with everyone today? It's Thanksgiving, not truth day!

Last night I went over to my parents' (walked, actually, nearly TWO MILES and yes I live that close to my parents) house to help get stuff ready for today. And by help, I mean stand around, drink wine, and make smart ass remarks.

Granted, I was trusted with several tasks, such as vacuuming, holding the bag open so my dad could squeeze in the 26 pound turkey (a bit like trying to watch a big, fat guy shove himself into a mini Cooper, no?), and making sure everyone's wine glasses never emptied. I was really good at the last one.

And even though I was not given anything but the most minimal tasks, I really think everyone will be able to benefit today from my help yesterday. Especially since I plan on carrying over my wine-glass-filling duties from last night. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Happy Thanksgiving, Internets.

It is time for your next test. You have planted the beet seed. You have walked the long lonely walk of loneliness.

You may find this hard to believe, and I find it hard to admit, but I am a just a tiny bit of a control freak. Maybe you don't find this hard to believe. You probably don't, if you're my sister. Or my mom. Or my dad but seriously, Dad? You have no room to talk. I learned it from watching YOU, Dad!

Ahem. This revelation came to me the other day at work, when they tried to change the way we do something completely trivial and I told them "NO! NO CHANGES!" only not in those words and not in caps lock. And I could explain it all to you so you could see how right I was not to let them change it but I fear it would cause many of you to back away slowly and never, ever return.

I tried to tell myself, "No, self, you are not a control freak! You just like things to run smoothly and it just so happens that you are the only one who knows how to do this correctly! It's OK, self, own it." Then I realized how often I have the following exchange:

Me: So, let me explain this to you.
Person X: OK.
Me: You're going to do this, and this, and then click that, and finally do this and then you're done!
Person X: Can I just do it this way?
Me: Why would you want to do it that way?
Person X: I don't know.
Me: I already told you how to do it the right way.
Person X: Can't there be more than one right way?
Me: No.
Person X: OK, then.
Me: Excellent.
Person X: Why are you breathing like Darth Vader?
Me: Oh. No reason.

Ever since I've realized what a control freak I can be, I've been trying to reign in those impulses. I remind myself that I cannot control every aspect of the office. And the building is not going to tumble to the ground if I'm not there one day. Or so they tell me.

But they are gonna be SO SORRY if it does.