let's go away for a while, you and I, to a strange and distant land

I think my Wii arm must be getting stronger, because I played with a lot of Wiis (hahaha) this weekend and my arm doesn't hurt at all. DESPITE the fact that I almost ripped my arm out of socket trying to play tennis. This was before someone told me that you didn't, in fact, have to swing your arm like you were actually holding a tennis racket. But it's so much more fun that way.

We tried to play Guitar Hero at Nancy's Friday night, and none of us made it through a single song. Perhaps it was the song, but I have a feeling it had more to do with the beer. HOWEVER. Last night, I played it again and I made it through a billion songs! Or like four. One of those. Of course, I was playing on Easy, but whatever. You know what I'd like to know? How can boys pick up a game for the first time and be good at it IMMEDIATELY? I have this theory that boys have an extra gene or chromosome or something (it's a well-thought out theory, you see) that enables them to play any video game well, even if they've never played it before. Sort of like Rainman and the toothpicks. Only not at all. Never mind.

I had Indian food for the first time last night, and it was delicious. Also, our waiter was psychic and NOT friends with the cute, little man who poured the water. And we enjoyed the musical stylings of Raj Patel and Little Ravi. I am aware I'm not making much sense to most (any?) of you, but I'M laughing and isn't that really all that matters? Yes. Yes, it is. You know, there was a time (birth through high school) that I wouldn't try any food that I didn't think I'd like. Which was limiting, you know? Then one day, I decided to just try anything someone put in front of me, as long as it was, you know, food. I think it started that Thanksgiving my dad bet me $10 that I wouldn't eat a raw oyster and yes, it was disgusting and yes, it was slimy, but at least I tried it. And I made ten dollars.

Also! Someone submitted something I wrote for this thing. Wow, I am great with details, yes? Anyway, thank you to whoever nominated me. This award will be added to my other writing awards which include . . . um, being a finalist in a short story contest and then LOSING. This is much better, thank you very much.

big! buck! hunter!

Last night was a reenactment of so many college nights, full of flat beer and Kings and Irish Poker and approximately 800 games of Asshole, and so this morning we all woke up ready for greasy food, and lots of it. So we went off in search of pancakes and ended up at a small, country diner. And although none of us ended up getting pancakes, something magical did happen. For as we sat and ate our food, the clouds parted, the heavens sang, and the peasants rejoiced, because what should be gracing the corner of this fine establishment but Big Buck Hunter, begging to be played. And play we did, once we rustled up some quarters (and finished our food, of course) and although Heidi beat the crap out of me (and killed Bambi's mom three times), it was all worth it, because what better way to end a weekend than this:

First of all, that was not a non sequitur. A non sequitur would have been: we've lost 3400 troops in Iraq, do you consider a unicycle furniture?

This was like the BEST. WEEK. EVER. For The Daily Show, anyway. I mean, OK, yeah . . . I don't remember who the guests were on Monday and Wednesday. Wednesday's guest was some dude who wrote a book that actually sounded sort of interesting. But I can't remember the name of it. Oh well. ANYWAY. Tuesday's guest was Paul Rudd and Thursday's (which I just watched) was Eddie Izzard. If Paul Rudd is the perfect man then Eddie Izzard is the perfect . . . um, executive transvestite. Is he still an executive transvestite? Every time I see him on a talk show he's just wearing a suit or something. And not even a woman's suit! Has he given up the running, jumping, climbing trees? I have just one more question: cake or death?

I got up early this morning. Well, earlier than I normally do on a Saturday. Probably because I went to bed really early last night because . . . um, I'm a loser? Seriously, I was in bed reading at 11:00. Also? I somehow broke the remote to the TV in my bedroom. OK, see, here's the thing. This remote is some kind of crazy universal remote that doesn't even go to this TV. The real remote broke and I have no idea where it is. So the other night I accidentally pushed a button I'd never pushed before and this lady's voice screeched out of the remote all, "SAY. A WORD." It was so weird. At first I thought I was going crazy because, um, I was hearing voices, but Heidi said she heard it, too. That is how loud the lady is! Heidi could hear her from the OTHER ROOM. Anyway, so now none of the buttons on the remote are working and I don't know how to fix it. Suggestions?

OK, and also? I seem to have really bad luck with electrical appliances. I've broken two coffee makers, at least three computer monitors, a CD player, a printer, at my old job they had to replace my computer twice, and freshman year I bought numerous remotes for my TV. I had to buy a new one because I lost the original one but I think what really happened was my roommate accidentally threw it away or something. I kept buying new remotes and THEY KEPT BREAKING. I swear, I am not doing anything to these appliances to make them just STOP working. I like to think that it's not my ineptitude with all things electrical, it's that I have some untapped superpower that I don't know how to control yet. That, you know, only affects electrical appliances. You just wait, one day I will totally be one of the X-Men. I can't wait to hang out with Hugh Jackman. Score!

Last night, Heidi and I were good and went to the gym and so what did we have for dinner afterward? Taco Bell. My stomach still hurts. The only reason we got it was because a) we did not feel like cooking and b) it's super cheap. AND NOW. I BRING YOU. Conversations With My Roommate: Taco Bell Edition.

Me: Sometimes I can't believe how I will go out in public.
Heidi: Me either. I mean, look at us.
Me: Seriously. But, have you seen some of the other people in this city?
Heidi: I know.
Me: So. Classy.
Heidi: It's true.
Me: Like the ladies in front of us?
Heidi: Hahahaha. I like how they have a pipe on top of their van.
Me: Haha, yeah.
Heidi: They're all, "we're going to check out some plumbing later."
Me: Ha, yeah, and then they're going to check out each other's plumbing!
Heidi: Wow.

Heidi: I made friends with the Taco Bell order taker guy.
Me: I know. He wants you.
Heidi: He's totally going to put extra beef in my quesadilla.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: What have you done to me?
Me: Me?
Heidi: You're a bad influence on me.
Me: That is unfair! Who do I get to blame?
Heidi: Let's go with your parents.
Me: OK.
Heidi: After all, they raised you to be this way.
Me: Sure, we'll go with that.

Me: The charity at work is collecting books for Books for Soldiers.
Heidi: That's cool.
Me: Yeah, I think it's something I can get behind.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I mean, I like books. I like soldiers.
Heidi: Yeah ya do!
Me: I walked right into that one.

Heidi: Look at that cloud over there! It has a hole in it.
Me: Where?
Heidi: Or is there just a dark cloud in front of it?
Me: Yeah, it's just a little dark cloud.
Heidi: Bummer.
Me: I know, otherwise it would have looked like a butt. With a butt hole.
Heidi: Haha, OK.
Me: Or a vagina.
Heidi: . . .
Me: With a vagina hole.
Heidi: Seriously?
Me: I don't know.
Heidi: Wow.
Me: You're the one who wanted the Taco Bell guy to put extra beef in your taco!
Heidi: Quesadilla. Not taco. Quesadilla.
Me: Heh, beef in your taco.
Heidi: No, really, what is wrong with you?

I don't even know where to begin with that question. Oh, and I would feel really bad if I didn't remind you guys that today is 6/9. Hey, maybe that explains this post! Yeah, we'll go with that.

when a problem comes along, you must whip it

Two truths and a lie:

1. I came home for lunch today. I pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car, and used the automatic key fob thingie to lock the car doors. Then I tried to use the same automatic key fob thingie to unlock the door to the apartment. I hit the button several times before I realized that our front door is not automatic. YET.
2. I accidentally bought unsalted pretzels at the grocery store, proving once again that I should not be trusted with something as important as the food shopping. DON'T WORRY, though. I am dipping them in mustard and they are still delicious.
3. It is very, very hot today and is only going to get hotter and so I just called into work and told them I can't come back in because I'm sick. Also, my car won't start. Also, I have been kidnapped by pirates. Also, I was attacked by a wild goose and have to go to the hospital to get my pecking wounds fixed.

OK, that last one was a lie. Although, I did consider it, so it's a half-truth, right?

Dear Diary,

I've decided to pretend I am writing in a secret diary. No, I'm totally kidding. Do you realize what kind of stuff I would tell a secret diary? Well, think of what I tell you guys. Then times it by 100. I have no idea what that means, but I think it means my secret diary would be a lot like the insides of my brain and no one should have to deal with that but me. I have a hard enough time dealing with the insides of my brain all day every day.

Did you know you can listen to My Favorite Radio Station In The History Of Radio Stations online? Only I can't at work because the entire website is BLOCKED. BLOCKED just like Facebook and Myspace. OR YOUTUBE! I work for a bunch of FASCISTS!

I'm just kidding. Please don't fire me. But can I please please please listen to My Favorite Radio Station In The History Of Radio Stations? Please? I'll do (almost) anything! And admit it, you're getting sick of hearing the same CDs all the time.

Earlier today, I e-mailed Heidi and asked her to say something really mean to me so I would go to the gym tonight. And she did! It's only fair, I mean, I threaten to dump water on her head if she tries to stay home from the gym. It's true. It's happened twice, which is almost a pattern.

So. I haven't gone to the gym yet. I'm wearing my gym clothes. Red shorts! And a t-shirt! That says D.A.R.E. on it. Hahahahaha. D.A.R.E. It stands for don't drink or do drugs or something, only not those words because that doesn't make sense. Sometimes we would have D.A.R.E. programs in elementary school. The best one was at the end of the year, when Kettering cops would come in and hold a concert because they were a ROCK BAND called "The Coppers." Believe me, if you were in 4th grade you would totally think it was cool. Anyway. I fully intend to go to the gym in just a little while. The thing is, I just ate dinner and the last time I went to work out right after dinner I almost threw up all over the entire Cardio Cinema. Which I don't think they would like. BUT. I'll tell you one thing. If I go in there tonight and they are playing another sad movie (last night? Stepmom. STEPMOM! That looks weird. You can't really yell in italics), I am going to throw up just to prove a point and that point is don't show sad movies in the Cardio Cinema or Jennie will throw up on you.

Would you like proof that I am very simple and easily pleased? After dinner, I had a piece of bread with butter and grape jelly on it and I really don't think I could have been happier if you'd placed an entire cheesecake in front of me and told me it was from Jesus and it didn't have any calories. OK, that's a lie. I would have been happier with cheesecake. Also, everybody knows that the calories are the best part, even Jesus.

hoagies and grinders, hoagies and grinders, navy beans navy beans MEATLOAF SANDWICH

I am nothing if not a creature of habit. Which is why I was so excited about my new job, because it is 8 to 5, every day, with an hour for lunch. At my old job, the hours varied from day to day and sometimes my lunch break was a five minute span of time in which I'd try to shove a turkey sandwich and pretzels down my throat and that is NOT SAFE. Also, just because the schedule SAID we were only open until 7 didn't mean that's when we would leave. And that is why it sucks to work in a doctor's office, because you're at the mercy of patients and patients as a whole are a bunch of assholes. True story.

So, yes, I am enjoying the whole "being on a schedule" thing. Because I'm like a four-year-old who gets cranky when she doesn't get her nap (note: I do not nap at work). BUT, I do get cranky when my eating schedule is disrupted. So I guess I'm more like a dog, but I don't really like comparing myself to a dog so let's move on.

Every morning, I eat a granola bar when I get to work. I love granola bars. I could eat like 10 at a time, but I don't. Then I have some coffee. Usually, way too much coffee and then I spend the rest of the morning walking the beaten path from my office to the restroom. I pee a lot, is what I'm saying. Partly because of the coffee, but mostly because I drink water constantly so I have an excuse to get up and wander the halls. Anyway, around 10 o'clock I eat some yogurt. Because 10 o'clock is when my stomach starts growling so loud that people actually come up to me and ask if I'm OK. OF COURSE I'm not OK, I'M OBVIOUSLY STARVING TO DEATH GIVE ME SOME FOOD. Only when I yelled that at my boss I got in trouble.

Lunch, of course, is right at twelve. I think I've discussed this before, but I normally eat the same thing for lunch every day. Carrots, turkey sandwich, pretzels, chocolate pudding snack pack IN THAT ORDER. Around 3, I start to get hungry again so I usually eat a fruit cup. Or a 100-calorie pack. Whatever I remembered to bring to work with me, really. As long as it's healthy because I am ALL ABOUT clean living.

So you can imagine my indignation when I found out that today I had a meeting at 10 AM and 3 PM. Those are both of my snack times! I mean, I'd probably be OK if I only had to miss one of them, but both?! I am going to be super cranky this afternoon. WATCH. OUT.

PS: I was going to post more of THE EVIL SUMMER but I didn't really think it'd be a good idea to bring a "book" to work that has a knife dripping blood all over the cover.

Grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly, pal! What do you like better, Christmas or Wedding Season?

You guys remember how I got my hair cut on Saturday? Well, I got my hair cut on Saturday. And I kind of sort of liked it until I took a shower and tried to fix it myself. All was going well . . . the washing, the conditioning, the towel-drying. But then I got to the blow-drying and the brushing and whatnot and I just stared at my assortment of hair-doing tools in befuddlement (aside: Heather Anne, I think "befuddlement" should be added to the list of words we should say more). And the hairdryer, the round brush, and the flatiron just stared back all, "what, you think WE know what to do?" They were no help whatsoever! What I'm trying to say is, this morning was the first day I actually got my hair to look somewhat like what it looked like on Saturday when I left the salon. Which is good, because I was getting really really close to just shaving it all off. I suck at being a girl. SIGH.

Also, you know how it's wedding season? Well, it's wedding season. And while I will not be doing any wedding crashing (unless someone else is up for it, maybe?), I do have two weddings to go to next month. I found this 28-day workout online the other day and then realized that conveniently, I had exactly 29 days until the first wedding. I did the math and I think I have time. So all week long I have been eating super nutritiously (is that a word?) and working out every day and, Internets, my legs hurt ever so much today. Ow, for real. The worst part is that I made banana bread over the weekend and even though my tummy tried to tell me that it was totally healthy because it has fruit in it, my brain said NO! PUT IT DOWN! Every time I start to feel weak and like I want to eat 100 million pounds of chips and salsa, I pull the dress I'm wearing to the first wedding out of my closet and stare at it and think about how awful it would be to have to wear a burlap sack or garbage bag or something because I can't fit into the dress anymore. STUPID WEDDINGS! ALWAYS WITH THE MAKING ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF! Unmarried, childless, 300 pounds, and SHORT. SHORT! Just kidding, I don't really care about the first two things and I am aware that I don't really weigh 300 pounds and the short thing . . . eh, I've gotten used to climbing on counters for things on the top shelf.

Oh, you guys, Heidi and I had the BEST EVER Conversations With My Roommate last night. I feel like I should give you some kind of warning for this, but I don't know how. Oh well . . .

Me [reading sign in front of a church]: Jesus is right for whatever is wrong.
Heidi: Hmm.
Me: Anything? What about unplanned pregnancy?
Heidi: What about butt sex?
Me: Hahaha. This is total Conversations With My Roommate material.
Heidi: That's for sure.
Me: And you won't sound like Kimmie Gibbler's boyfriend this time.
Heidi: No. I don't think he ever talked about butt sex.
Me: Yeah, I don't think Full House ever had a Very Special Episode about butt sex.
Heidi: They should have, though.
Me: Totally. DJ would have gone to Danny and been all, "Dad, Steve really wants me to have butt sex."
Heidi: And Danny would be like, "Well, Deej, as long as you use some Spic & Span to clean up afterward."
Me: Hahahaha.
Heidi: And then the special music would start.
Me: The tinkly piano.
Heidi: Right, the very special butt sex episode music.
Me: I cannot believe we just had a conversation that included Jesus, Full House, and butt sex.
Heidi: It happens.

Don't say I didn't warn you. Oh wait, I didn't. In any case, I think I'm going to start tape recording Heidi and I at all times because I can never remember all of the inappropriateness. And really, conversations about butt sex deserve to be remembered properly, don't you think?

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

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

Yeah, I don't know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As they say in my country . . . homina homina homina

For my third half-assed entry of the day . . . Conversations With My Roommate!

Heidi: The fat girl inside of me wants to eat everything in the fridge.
Me: Really? Cause the fat girl inside of me wanted to go to Penn Station earlier.
Heidi: Mmm.
Me: But we have leftover pasta.
Heidi: And salad.
Me: And we need to eat that before it goes bad.
Heidi: Right.
Me: Garlic bread, too. Which we also need to eat before it goes bad.
Heidi: Right.
Me: Right.
Heidi: Wanna have wine with dinner?
Me: Well, yeah, cause we need to drink it before it goes bad.

also . . .

Heidi: What are you listening to?
Me: The Shins.
Heidi: It's weird.
Me: You're weird!
Heidi: Your face is weird!
Me: I know!

I need to work on my comebacks, I think.

oh and also . . .

Me: Heidi! I'm drunk again!
Heidi: Me too, I think.
Me: We have got to stop getting accidentally drunk in the middle of the week.
Heidi: It isn't even the middle of the week yet.
Me: God. So. One more episode of How I Met Your Mother and then we get ready for the gym right?
Heidi: OK.
Me: That should be enough time . . .
Heidi: For the wine to wear off?
Me: Exactly.

Conversation With My Roommate: Fatty McGee Edition

Last night

Me: Would you judge me if I had a piece of cake right now?
Heidi: No.
Me: Good, cause I'm having one.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I need something sweet.
Heidi: OK, I'm having some cake, too.

Later

Me: I'm going to throw up.
Heidi: So, here's what we had to eat tonight . . .
Me: Don't remind me.
Heidi: French fries . . . cheesy brauts . . . a pickle
Me: Uhhhhhh
Heidi: Cheese dip and tortilla chips.
Me: Stop.
Heidi: And cake.
Me: You know, if I wasn't on my period right now I'd be worried I was pregnant.
Heidi: Me too.
Me: I think we fell off the wagon and it rolled over us a few times.
Heidi: Yeah, well, I think it's parked on top of me.

Tonight, on the phone

Me: I'm going to Kroger later, do we need anything?
Heidi: Why are you going to Kroger?
Me: To buy pizza for dinner.
Heidi: Yum!
Me: I've decided to fall off the wagon again tonight.
Heidi: OK. Can you pick up some chicken breasts on your way off? Meijer didn't have any.
Me: Sure. Oh, and I'm also not going to the gym tonight.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Cause I'm not gonna get home til 7:30, and I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and I have to work tomorrow so I am throwing a tantrum!
Heidi: Sounds good.
Me: What are you and Nick doing tonight?
Heidi: Well, tomorrow night would you rather go bowling or go to a comedy club?
Me: Duh, comedy club.
Heidi: OK, then I'll try to talk Nick into bowling tonight.
Me: Awesome.
Heidi: Indeed.
Me: Tell Nick that [name redacted] and [name redacted] say hi.
Heidi: Oh, are they with you?
Me: Oh, yeah, I invited them over later for a threesome.
Heidi: Nice. You are covering a lot of ground there.
Me: It's true. And I think Nick would want to know.
Heidi: Hey, you're just doing your part to support the troops.
Me: If only more Americans were like me.
Heidi: Exactly.

Can you believe I have to work tomorrow? On Saturday! Seriously!

I said BRR, it's cold in here! There must be some Toros in the atmosphere!

It's cold outside. And it snowed. It took me twice as long to get home Tuesday night because of all the snow. Going 20 on the highway? Not as fun as you might think. I hate you, February, SO MUCH.

So, last weekend Heidi and I tried to make a grown-up dinner. On Saturday, we decided that instead of going out to eat like we normally do on Saturdays (and Fridays and Sundays and sometimes Thursdays), we'd cook the prime rib she'd gotten (free) from work. I wasn't exactly sure what a prime rib was . . . I mean, yeah, I knew it was meat of some sort but that was only because it was thawing all big-hulking-meat style in our sink. It didn't really look that appetizing but the picture on the packaging looked pretty delicious. Luckily, there were also directions on the package so we didn't think we could mess things up TOO much. This coming from the people who couldn't use their oven for three months because the knob was on upside-down.

Heidi: It says to cook it in a roasting pan.
Me: Do we have one of those?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Um.
Heidi: Um.
Me: Oh, wait! Is this a roasting pan?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: We don't have a meat thermometer, either.
Me: We could buy one.
Heidi: Do you think your parents have one?
Me: Oh yeah! I'll see if we can borrow theirs.
Heidi: Maybe we can ask them if this is a roasting pan, too.
Me: OK. I'll take a picture of it with my phone!
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know. I am all kinds of special.

We ventured over to visit my parents. After showering, though. Because when I told my mom that Heidi and I had worked out Friday night and not showered after and then worked out again Saturday morning and then cleaned the apartment, she said we weren't allowed to come over unless we de-smelled ourselves. Normally I'd be offended but, to be honest, I did smell really, really bad. Anyway. My mom gave us the meat thermometer and also a roasting pan because it turns out the pan I had taken a picture of? Not so much a roasting pan as it was a broiling pan. Yeah.

FINALLY we made it back to our apartment so we could start the prime rib and also make fun of Heidi's boyfriend, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching Spongebob Squarepants. Once that was taken care of, we went to the grocery to buy such important staples as salad, garlic bread, and beer. We got back to our apartment and sat around for a while until it was time to start the baked potatoes and salad. Heidi handled the baked potatoes because that involved the microwave, and the fewer chances I have to break an appliance, the better. Then we checked the prime rib. It still wasn't done. No matter where we stuck the thermometer. OK. No problem! we said. We'd start with our salads like civilized human beings. Only the prime rib still wasn't done when we finished our salads. It wasn't even close to being done. So we turned up the temperature. Half an hour later, it still wasn't done and we were getting so hungry that when we looked at each other, we did not see human friends, we saw human-size steaks covered in delicious delicious steak sauce. Actually, I think Steve did take a bite out of Nick's arm. Don't deny it, Steve! Since it was almost 9 (!), Heidi and I made an executive decision. We were going to replace our main dish of prime rib with, wait for it . . . cheesy brauts, which are really just hot dogs all dressed up. So. Our fancy, grown-up dinner consisted of salad, baked potatoes, and hot dogs (we forgot to make the garlic bread). Which, I'll admit, is kind of lame, but it's still better than serving omelette, blue soup, and marmalade*.

And also? The prime rib, that finally finished cooking around 11, after we'd given up on learning how to play poker but before we made the terrible decision to watch SNL? Was DELICIOUS. Especially after what we had for dessert . . . which was several servings of Miller Lite. Don't judge.

*Yeah. Probably four of you got that. Sorry.

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.

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.

If the microwave goes, I'm outta here

Slowly but surely, all of our kitchen appliances are turning against us. First there was the oven knob incident. Then there was my coffeemaker that decided to start turning itself off in the middle of brewing coffee. THEN there is our dishwasher, which we've had maintenance look at twice and which still fails to get the dishes clean 76 percent of the time. I totally made that statistic up, by the way. I hope you're not offended.

Anyway, the latest appliance to turn its back on us is our refrigerator. Which is like the most important appliance in the kitchen! That which keeps our beers cold! We opened our freezer this morning and noticed most of the meat (hee) wasn't frozen. That's a problem, you know. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the entire back wall of the freezer was covered in a frosty ice sculpture. Then we realized that our fridge wasn't keeping the food cold, either. We had no idea how long it'd had been like that, so we immediately called maintenance. While waiting, I googled and googled to see if there was anything we could do. Turns out, we could defrost the freezer! Doesn't that sound fun? It's not, really. Technically, you can just turn it off and leave the door open and wait, but I am impatient, so I employed some other techniques, such as boiling a pot of water, placing it in the freezer and shutting the door, chipping away at the ice with various, sharp objects (which, it turns out, you're not really supposed to do), and my FAVORITE, aiming a hairdryer at the ice and watching it melt. I did this until Heidi suggested that maybe it wasn't the best idea to be holding an electrical appliance in an ever-expanding puddle of water. Probably true.

The guy finally came and fixed our fridge, but not before telling us that everything, aside from some stuff we'd salvaged from the freezer, had gone bad. Which gave Heidi and I an excuse to go out for dinner, something we probably would have done anyway only now we didn't have to feel guilty about it.

I tried to look on the bright side. Tomorrow is when Operation Fat Whore, No More starts (we gave ourselves a week to adjust to 2007 and also we even have a weight/exercise chart SUCK ON THAT) so having no food in the house and also no money to buy groceries is actually a good thing.

love at first bite (har har)

I am about to run away and elope with the turkey sandwich I am currently consuming.

Of course, by the time we get to Vegas he will be in my tummy, so this could be a problem.

Hmm.

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.