NaBloPoMo: Day 3

I doubt anyone noticed, because this blog has become a bit like speaking into the void (I’m not complaining, it’s kind of nice, like it was when I first started it and just rambled on and on like I was writing in my diary), but I forgot to post yesterday.

Well. No, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t forget. I knew perfectly well I needed to write something, I just...didn’t. There were two reasons for this:

1. I spent much of yesterday preparing for our annual volunteer appreciation banquet.

2. I spent all my time not preparing for the banquet watching many, many episodes of Gilmore Girls with Joe.

And you know what? NO REGRETS.



I put pressure on myself a lot of the time for just SUPER dumb reasons. Like, I don’t even know, that I was five minutes late for work and now the day doesn’t count anymore? That’s a bad example. I can’t really be late because I can get there whenever I want. But we’re going with that right now because I can’t think of any other examples and it’s my blog and I do what I want.

My point is (and I do have one) that, even for something that means nothing to anyone but me, like National Blog Posting Month, I tend to be very hard on myself if I feel like I’m, I don’t know, “cheating.” So if I post a video instead of actual words or GOD FORBID don’t post one day, it negates anything else I’ve done for the month.

This is stupid, flawed logic and it’s something I hate about myself so I purposefully sabotaged myself early on in the month and now NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.



Anyway. Bye.

never eat slimy worms

"Did you just eat that worm?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, why?" said Danny, around a mouthful of earthworm.

"Um. No reason."

"Mmm." Danny rubbed his belly. Bobby tried to ignore his own rumbling stomach.

"What's it taste like?" Bobby asked.

"Like a regular old gummy worm. Duh." Danny picked up another worm from the sidewalk, put it in his mouth, and slurped it up like a noodle.

"Let me try one!" Bobby grabbed a worm out of Danny's hand and shoved it in his mouth. He regretted it almost immediately.

"Ha! I can't believe you just did that," Danny laughed. "That was too easy."

" . . . erp," said Bobby.

"Wanna go home for dinner?" asked Danny.

"Yeah," Bobby answered weakly. "What's mom making?"

"Spaghetti."

everybody here, comes from somewhere

So you guys know how I wanna quit the gym, right? Well, technically I have quit, but my membership goes through the end of this month so I decided to stop throwing money down the toilet and actually, I don't know, GO TO THE GYM. And on the way there, I had the radio on and OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS, the radio started playing the Ghostbusters song and I was so excited. Probably more excited than is normal. But whatever.

So, I'm singing along because . . . well, I'm pretty sure that if you were born in the 70s or 80s, that song is ingrained into your DNA and therefore you can't help but sing because if you try not to sing your DNA will explode. SCIENCED! But I think this might have been the first time I actually listened to the lyrics and did you know that at the end of the song, he says, "Lemme tell ya something, Bustin' makes me feel good!" Does that not strike anyone else as slightly inappropriate? Who let that one slip through, huh?

Once I recovered from the Bustin'Gate, I went into the gym and got on an elliptical in the Cardio Cinema and was immediately PISSED OFF. One, because it was sofa king hot in there that I almost died for real no joke. Two, the movie they were playing had the subtitles on, but the movie was in English, so basically that meant that the jackoffs who work there were too lazy to turn them off. And three, I couldn't figure out what the movie was. I know this doesn't seem like a big deal, but I pride myself on being able to guess a movie within a couple of minutes. Even if I've never seen it before. Sometimes I can guess the movie before the credits start rolling. I KNOW. That is how good I am. But this movie had Alec Baldwin and Sarah Michelle Gellar in it and I quickly ran all the Sarah Michelle Gellar movies I knew through my head and none of them had Alec Baldwin in them. IMDB, to the rescue! Holy shit, apparently it was some movie called Suburban Girl and now I am ashamed because one of the movie's writers is Melissa Bank. Oh GOD.

In other news, if I could, I would listen to REM's new song (supernatural superserious supercalifragilisticespialadocious) over and over so I'm betting Heidi is really glad I don't have the means to listen to it over and over, unless I resort to taping it off the radio when they play it. Did you guys ever do that? I did. All the time. Wow, good story.

karma karma karma karma karma chameleon

Work was starting to get to me again but you know what? It's lunchtime and I decided that everyone could just wait until after 1 to start pissing me off some more. Because I've realized that this is just a job and I shouldn't be worrying about it 24 hours a day because it doesn't worry about ME 24 hours a day. No sir. Or ma'am. Oops, sorry for just calling you all "ma'am." I hate that. I feel as though 25 is too young an age to be ma'amed, but it still happens sometimes. What is the appropriate age to start ma'aming women? When I was little, I thought that you had to be married to be called "ma'am," which is still OK with me because that means I won't be ma'amed for a long time.

I thought about going outside and frolicking around in the warm weather (it's 60, you guys . . . I almost wore shorts and a tank top to work), but I was afraid that once I got out there, I'd never want to come back inside. And they'd be all, "where's Jennie?" and then someone would look out the window to find me rolling around in the grass or running through the sprinkler or something. And that would be difficult to explain to my boss. Although, maybe they'd give me time off to work on my mental problems and I could use that time for more important things, like reading and sleeping and watching TV and if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go outside now.

Everyone in your wagon has died. Many wagons fail to make it all the way to Oregon.

Holy crapbag, you guys, I need a break. Stupid articles! I hate you! It's all your fault that I'm stuck writing you instead of sitting on the sofa in my pajamas watching all those episodes of Futurama that TiVo recorded!

Speaking of Futurama, one of the episodes TiVo recorded is that one where Fry finds his fossilized dog and he's going to clone him and Bender is jealous and then he finds out that his dog lived for 15 years and probably had a good life after Fry was frozen and then they flash back to the dog searching and searching for Fry and then WAITING FOR FRY OUTSIDE THE PIZZA PARLOR WHERE FRY WORKED FOREVER AND EVER BECAUSE FRY NEVER CAME BACK. And then I cry and cry. I'm about to cry just thinking about it. Damn you, show!

Last night, Heidi and I watched part of 300 and after a while, I was all, "this is sort of gay," and Heidi was like, "but this all happened before gay was invented," and I was all, "nuh-uh, what about Ancient Greeks, they had the penis-in-butt-sex all the time," and Heidi just stared at me and so then I was like, "it's true, they did it for warmth and camaraderie," and then I realized I had no idea where I had gotten this information and was probably actually making it up. But it turns out I wasn't. Thank you, Wackopedia.

Speaking of penises (sure?), I watched this documentary on the Discovery Channel or something that was all about sex and the chemistry of love or something and it explained how men's penises are bigger now than they ever have been. Because, see, apparently big penises are more desirable than little ones (sorry to those with tiny peepees) and women are drawn to big penises on the most basic level and so they seek OUT the big penises. Therefore, men with big penises have more sex and more of a chance to procreate, leading to the ginormous schlong gene (scientific term) to be passed on to the son. Which creates more big penises for women to procreate with. I was telling Heidi about it and we decided we were glad to be living in such splendid times and she said that it would have sucked to be a pioneer woman because everyone knows that the only thing to do on the Oregon Trail besides hunt, cross rivers, and come down with Typhoid fever is have sex and I believe the phrase, "if the wagon's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'," might have been shouted but I'm not going to tell you who shouted it because I think you can probably guess.

turn around, bright eyes

Last night around 9, I was just sitting and thinking that I was sure there was something I was supposed to be doing. That's when Heather (through text messaging medium) was all, "This eclipse is so cool!" and that's when I was all, "OH. MY. GOD. I'M. MISSING. IT."

And I jumped up and put on my galoshes (shut up, they were the closest) and grabbed my peacoat and ran outside even though I was wearing Strawberry Shortcake pajama pants because the moon was playing hide and seek and OH MY GOD I WAS MISSING IT.

And then I looked all around and found the moon and it looked like someone had taken a giant bite out of it and I jumped up and down and pointed and no one else was outside looking and OH MY GOD THEY'RE MISSING IT.

So I ran back inside and called my parents and my sister answered and I said, "I need to talk to mom and dad," and she was all, "about what?" and I said, "THE MOON" and then I heard her yell, "Jennie needs to talk to you," and my mom was all like, "about what?" and my sister was like, "the moon," and my mom finally picked up and I shouted, "DID YOU SEE THE MOON?" and she said, "Dad said it's not in full effect til 10 or 10:30," and I was like, "but you can see it now!" and she was like, "I'll look at 10 when I let the dog out," and I said, "BUT YOU CAN SEE IT NOW!" and she very calmly asked if that's all I'd called for thank you and goodnight and OH MY GOD THEY'RE MISSING IT.

It reminded me of that time Heidi, Steve and I went to a bar or something and on the way home I remembered that there was a meteor shower that night, only it turned out it was the night before or something and everyone was sad that OH MY GOD THEY MISSED IT.

_____

Today on The Collective, it's the Chronic(what?)cles of Narnia.

I found you, Ms New Booty

Check out my new* boot cup, fools**:



*only, it's not new, it's probably at least 100 years old***
**I don't know
***that may be a slight exaggeration

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

I've got the thingie. Half in English, half in squibbly.

Oh my god, you guys (heh), I'm super tired today. This might have something to do with not having slept well in, oh yeah, my ENTIRE LIFE, but ALSO some people were very bad influences on me last night and I stayed up way too late.

And when I tell you what I stayed up late doing, you are going to think, "oh my god, Jennie is an even bigger dork than I suspected AND I DIDN'T THINK THAT WAS POSSIBLE." Because, you see, I stayed up late playing Scrabble.

Oh, shut up. I mean, as if Facebook wasn't addicting enough, now you can play SCRABBLE? What are they doing to me? Last night, I was going to go to bed after Kat! and Mysterygirl! finished kicking my ass in TWO separate games, but then another game started and I was all, "who needs sleep?" Well, it turns out, I do. Actually, you know what? That's a lie. A big one. I'm not any sleepier today than I normally am, so screw trying to go to bed at a reasonable hour. From now on I'm just going to stay up until I'm so exhausted I just fall over and go to sleep wherever I happen to be standing at the moment. And if I land on Phoebe, well, that just means she needs to work on her speed and agility.

Aaaaanyway, I was late to work this morning, but I'm placing the blame squarely on snow's shoulders. Which is FOOLHARDY because what if snow's shoulders melt? WHAT THEN? So yeah, it snowed like two inches and then started sleeting, which really hurts when it hits your bare skin. It's sort of like God is throwing tiny ice pebbles at your face. Which . . . rude. As I was getting ready, I took the time to sit on my bed and watch the school and business closings scroll along the TV, allowing myself to hope that I might see my company's name on the list. I don't know what I was thinking, my company didn't even close the building last February when there was NO HEAT. Luckily, I didn't start until March so I missed February's Frostbite Friday. But whatever, I still maintain that if it's too dangerous for all the children in the area to go to school, it's too dangerous for me to drive to work. TRUE STORY.

So, back to Scrabble. I CAN'T HELP IT I'M ADDICTED. I'm wondering what the proper etiquette is for when the game is finished. Is there a set amount of time you should wait before you challenge that same person to a new game? Because I want to challenge them immediately. Like, the second the game is over. Kat and I thought that might be kind of slutty, but I'm OK with that.

_____

Today on The Collective, Abigail makes me want a burrito real bad.

Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads.

This morning I fell into a wormhole. It happened while I was in the middle of getting ready, right after I'd finished drying my hair but before I'd put on any pants. I think the wormhole is somewhere in the vicinity of my closet, because that's where I seem to have lost the most time. At first, I fell into this wormhole and looked around and was all, "where are all my clothes?" because all I could see was a smooth see-through tube all around me and then I was like, "a wormhole? Seriously?" But whatever, I'd fallen into a wormhole, what could I do? I had to float around in it until it spat me out on the other side. I was just pissed because wormholes are really cold (who knew?) and I wasn't wearing pants. I mean, if I'd KNOWN I was going to fall into a wormhole, I would have put on a parka or long johns or something.

While I was floating around and shivering and trying to come up with a good excuse for being late to work that didn't include the words "pantsless" or "wormhole," this dwarf suddenly appeared next to me.

"Um, hi," I said.

"Hi. What's all this then?" he asked.

"Wormhole."

"Ah."

We floated in silence for a bit and then I asked his name and where he came from.

"My name is Algar. I come from a land called Dwarfatania," he explained.

"Where's that?"

"It's like 30 minutes south of Narnia, if you take Highway Fairy Princess and get off at the exit for Puck's Joke Shop."

"Oh."

"What is your name? What land do you come from?" Algar asked.

"Jennie. Ohio."

"Ohio. That sounds magical."

"It's not."

"Oh."

Then Algar disappeared. I don't know where he went. Such is the magic of wormholes. Eventually, I got out of the wormhole. I don't know how. Such is the magic of wormholes. I was a little disappointed that I didn't run into Jake Gyllenhaal, but there was a silver lining to this wormhole. When I got to work (late), I explained to my boss about the wormhole and when I got to the part about Algar, she sent me home for some reason! Something about not coming to work drunk anymore, I'm not sure.

_____

Today on The Collective, boys are smelly. True story.

it's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)

As I'm sure you all know, last night was President Bush's last State of the Union address. EVER. Like . . . no more. He's done. Well, with state-of-the-unioning anyway. We're so close to the end, you guys. I remember way back in 2004, when he'd just been reelected and I was bitter. Oh so bitter. It seemed like this day would never come. I was all, "FOUR MORE YEARS OF THIS CRAP I CAN'T DO IT AARRHHREWERDHFSDF." For real, that is what I said, but I might have misspelled that last part.

Still, I didn't watch it. One, because I was at someone else's house and I thought if I watched it I might accidentally punch a rage-hole in their wall or TV and I can't afford to fix that and TWO, because I had just finished watching United 93 which GUESS WHAT was a huge mistake because I sobbed like crazy through the majority of it. What I was thinking, I don't know, but do you know what I DO know? My gym played that movie in the Cardio Cinema one time and I stayed far, far away that night because this other time? They showed Hotel Rwanda and I had to leave the room because, yes, these are both good movies, but do they make you want to work out? No. They make you want to throw yourself under the treadmill which PROBABLY wouldn't even kill you. You'd just end up with this mangled, claw hand or something and people would be like, "What happened to your hand?" and you'd stare into space and get this faraway, haunted look in your eye and whisper, ". . . Hotel Rwanda."

So, no, I did not watch the chimp last night, but I have been paying more and more attention to the upcoming election. You know. The big one. I tried not to pay much attention at first, because it seemed too soon and also The Daily Show was off the air on account of the strike and I don't know how I can be expected to know what to think if Jon Stewart doesn't tell me (note to my Republican family members - that was a joke). I know who I'm voting for in the primary and hope that's who I'll end up voting for in the presidential election, but I'm afraid to get my hopes up. Especially after last time, when I wallowed in soul-crushing defeat for a good month or two.

_____

Speaking of the government, today on The Collective, Abigail tells you why she hates it and why you should, too.

and Wednesday, too

I had trouble sleeping last night on account of the wind was blowing so hard I was sort of afraid I'd wake up in Oz. Like, the Oz with all the munchkins, not the Oz where ass-rapes happen. Although, maybe ass-raping is one of munchkin-Oz's dirty little secrets. It's not that I'd mind going to Oz. I think the Scarecrow and I would be BFF. Not the Cowardly Lion, though. I'd slap that whiny bitch right in the face.

Seriously, it was way windy. So windy, in fact, that I switched the channel from a rerun of Sex & the City to the news to make sure a tornado wasn't on top of the city at the moment. It wasn't. Apparently, though, it was windy enough to cause Heidi to freak out a tiny bit about what would happen if there was a tornado. Because, you see, our bedrooms are on the second floor and there IS no third floor so if the roof got blown off we'd be so dead. We talked about it today, and it turned out we were thinking the same thing about what to do if there WAS a tornado, providing she actually WOKE UP for it because I bet you anything she'd sleep right through it. Lucky bitch. Anyway, I told her not to worry, because sometimes when I'm bored (read: at work), I make up disaster plans for all sorts of things, such as fire or flash flood or Godzilla. These plans can include anything from making a torch out of a floor lamp, a pillowcase, and lighter fluid (zombie attack) to parachuting off of the balcony with bedsheets (fire that blocks the front door) to turning the fridge door into a raft (flood, duh).

I'm either the very best or very worst person to have with you when disaster strikes. Best, because I have all these plans already so you don't have to think and ALSO I don't panic very easily. Worst, because . . . I don't panic very easily AND have a very strong sense of denial, so if a T-Rex was attacking the neighborhood and his giant eye peeked in the window, I'd probably be all, "just ignore it, it'll go away eventually."

Or I'd throw Gerard at it.

I don't know what I'm up against, I don't know what it's all about, I've got so much to think about HEEEEEYYYYYY

Scary movies watched over the weekend: Stir of Echoes, parts of The Exorcist, part of Halloween, part of Children of the Corn, and Dawn of the Dead, but I fell asleep before it ended.

Can you believe I fell asleep during a ZOMBIE movie? Me neither. Normally, I'm cowered under a blanket or behind a pillow, but I was crazy tired. Which is like the most tired of all the tireds you can be. It's true. I read it in a science book. Ha! Like I read science books.

The reason I was so tired was because we had walked around the Oregon District's Hauntfest for a couple of hours. And it was freezing and we drank some beer and that didn't really help with the freezing because we didn't drink enough of the beer and there was so much going on that I think I got overstimulated on account of all the people in funny costumes and the movies playing on the street and the bands and the circus performers swinging on ropes or something and that is why I was so tired.

Heidi and I spent a pretty long time in Goodwill on Friday night searching for our Three's Company costumes (we found terrycloth clothing YOU GUYS IT WAS SO AWESOME), and yet once we got downtown I felt like I hadn't even dressed up. Oh well. We all still looked pretty good. See:

Come and knock on our door, INDEED.

Anyway, once we got home, we drank beer and played Mario Kart (Super Nintendo version OH SNAP) but it didn't take long for Heidi and I to get tired of Steve kicking our asses so we quit. Seriously, it was embarrasing. I suck at video games and it makes my thumbs hurt to play because I press too hard and I swing the controller all around like THAT'S gonna help. Sigh. Anyway, then we watched Dawn of the Dead and all fell asleep and now the story has come full circle so you'd think I'd quit talking now but you'd be wrong.

On Sunday, Heidi and I made pumpkins. Well, we bought pumpkins and massacred them. See:

And we ended up with this:

Mine is the one on the left. I like it because it reminds me of the snowmen that Calvin (of & Hobbes) would make and slaughter in various ways. Do you think Hobbes was gay? Oh never mind, didn't he have a crush on Susie Derkins? Or do you think he only had a crush on Susie Derkins because Calvin secretly loved her? And don't tell me Calvin didn't secretly love her, because why else would he have started G.R.O.S.S. (Get Rid Of Slimy girlS)? DENIAL. THAT'S WHY. Yeah, I definitely should have quit talking before now.

I'm not so good with the advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?

Whenever someone is stupid enough to ask for my advice or, and this is the more likely scenario, I offer it unsolicited, I usually follow it up with, "but what the hell do I know?" because seriously?

WHAT THE HELL DO I KNOW*?

*enough to know I don't know much

Well, I didn't get a good look at his face. I'm not made of eyes!

Sometimes it takes me like an hour to send out a five sentence e-mail. BECAUSE I want to make sure that A) none of the words are spelled wrong, B) it all makes as much sense as possible, and C) I have squeezed as much information into as few sentences as possible. I do this because I have the tendency to babble. I'm not sure if you've noticed this. Heh. I have to hold myself back most of the time when I email people because if I don't, I will write and write and write and it will all be about NOTHING. And I doubt that anyone has time to read that. I do the same thing on voicemails. Ask anyone. Usually I just talk until the voicemail lady cuts me off because I can never think of how to end my message.

What was I talking about? Right, babbling. So last night I went running. And I was going to shave my legs because . . . wow, seriously, they were gross, but then I figured that since it was dark outside and no one would be able to see anything, I'd just say "screw it" and go anyway. I suppose I could have worn pants instead of shorts but it was too hot for pants. And did I mention? It was dark? Really dark. So dark that when I was running around the pond I'd hate to know what I looked like because I was trying to dodge the huge piles of goose poop but BECAUSE OF THE DARKNESS I couldn't see the huge piles of goose poop until the very last minute so I was weaving around them like a drunk person who just got spun around in one of those things the astronauts train in. You know the ones I mean. The spinny thing. That like . . . makes their faces smush backwards? You know? Whatever.

So the other day I saw this picture of President Douche and he was wearing Crocs. Hold on, I will try to find it. Here it is. Not only is he wearing the ugliest shoes known to mankind, HE IS WEARING THEM WITH SOCKS. As much as I absolutely hate these shoes (and don't even find them that comfortable . . . and I know this because we tried them on and made fun of them in a shoe store in Nashville), I do find it somewhat comforting that, in addition to pretty much everything else in the world, the President and I also disagree on what shoes are acceptable to WEAR IN PUBLIC WHEN YOU ARE THE LEADER OF THE FREE WORLD. He should not be encouraging people to wear these. Kids look up to him, right? I mean, because he's the President. Not because he's George W. Bush. Even kids know enough not to look up to Dubya. Ha! I kid, I kid. No, I don't.

Do you see what I mean about the babbling?

Jan made me watch Why Tu Mama Tambien, which means Throw Mama from the Tambien.

You guys, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. I don't think I can tell you just how excited I am because my hair? Out of control. Seriously. It's getting longer and the longer it gets, the more full of itself it gets and it just will not listen to me anymore. I'm all, "lay flat, hair!" and it's like, "no, I want to be wavy and GLOOOOORIOUS!" and I say, "you do not look glorious, you look like Albert Einstein!" and then my hair starts crying. It's awkward. Especially if I'm at work.

I looked in my checkbook to see when the last time I got a haircut was . . . you guys, I haven't gotten my hair cut in over two months. Thus explaining the out-of-controlness. I mean, I kept meaning to get it cut but, go figure, then I'd put it off. Try not to act too surprised.

So. Today is Friday. Did you know that? I bet you didn't. Don't lie to me. I can see right through you. Although, my weekend? It is not going to be what you might call "exciting." Not at all. I have to a) write approximately 800 articles and b) not spend much money. But it's OK because the next couple of weekends are going to be SO. FUN. So fun. I can't even tell you. OK, I will. Next weekend we're going to the Renaissance Festival (hi, it's Ohio, there is nothing else to do here) and my goal this year is to see a Renaissance Festival Wedding because can you imagine what kind of freak show that would be? I'm taking my camera. And then THE NEXT WEEKEND is Spoon on Friday and wedding on Saturday. On the one hand . . . another wedding? Seriously? But on the other hand . . . friends! Alcohol! Dancing! Alcohol! Friends with alcohol! In Cleveland! Fancy hotel! Alcohol! OK, that's enough. After this one, I'm done with weddings for a while. Thank you, baby Jesus.

ALSO. The Office starts in LESS THAN A WEEK. You might say it's sad that I'm this excited for a TV show. You might even say it's unhealthy. But if you do, I might kick you in the babymaker. So think about that before you say anything.

take that look from off your face

You know, I've been thinking about this a lot and I really think my favorite song in the history of all songs ever written is Don't Look Back in Anger. I could listen to it over and over for the rest of my life and not only never get tired of it, but sing along loudly and off-key every time. True story. Ask Heidi.

Don't tell Johnny Cash, though. I still love the ring of fire, just not as much.

And as it fell from the sky, I asked myself why can I never let anyone in?

The other day, I sprayed myself right square in the eye with a bunch of hairspray. This is because I no longer flinch like a little wussy baby and cover my eyes when I'm spraying the crap out of my ponytail (so no stray hairs come out and tickle my face while I'm running). I'm either getting braver or stupider. Maybe both. This has also led to more minor burns caused by my hair straightener, because I apparently no longer care if I hurt myself, but it's a small price to pay for smooth, shiny hair.

I'm going to say something now, but I'm not sure it's going to work.

I used to try to avoid pain whenever possible. This is why I avoided exercise for so long. Because sometimes it hurts. I might twist an ankle or overstretch a muscle or fall down because I am extremely uncoordinated and who wants to inflict pain on themselves? I sure as hell don't. Not on purpose anyway. I use avoiding pain as an excuse for more than not working out. I don't tell anyone how I feel because I'm afraid of it coming back later and making the rest of my feelings all hurty. Which, now that I think about it, doesn't make much sense because it never really stops my heart from feeling like a giant named Rocky who is made of boulders stepped on it while wearing spiky heels. I don't know why a giant named Rocky is wearing spiky heels. Maybe he's a giant executive transvestite. Don't judge.

I don't know. There are times when I wonder why I hold everything in until I finally (with the help of my good friend, alcohol) just burst and blurt out everything. EVERYTHING. Or I think back on past conversations and realize I said the wrong thing OR worse (and even more likely), I said nothing, missing a perfect opportunity to, I don't know, SAY WHAT I'M FEELING.

For all of my complaining and joking about how I'm going to die alone blah blah blah, I do realize that the fact that I'm perpetually single is probably all my fault. I thought about, you know, actually telling people how I feel, but I'm afraid once I open my brain, it will explode and all the crazy will spill out everywhere and then I really will die alone. Because nobody wants to be with someone who has an exploding brain. It's messy. And also? The Crazy is one of those stains you can never get out of the carpet and then every time someone comes over, they're all, "Ew, what's that? Vomit? Pee? Poo? Love stain?" and you have to be like, "WORSE, it's CRAZY," and they're all, "That is unacceptable, I must go now," and so then you open a bottle of wine and watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and cry through an entire box of tissues. True story.

WOW.

the worst part is over, now get back on that horse and ride

Yesterday, I had my last long day of volunteer training. I still have one more session on Wednesday, but it's not as long and all we're doing filling out paperwork and coloring. Yes, I said coloring. Yesterday's training session, though . . . oh mylanta. Because we're supposed to be helping these kids grieve, we all have to learn how to listen or whatever and this means we spend a lot of time talking about the deaths of our loved ones and our feelings and it makes me very uncomfortable. When it's my turn to talk I try to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Anyway, so I'm looking forward for the training to be over so I can stop talking about myself. Except for on here. Of course. Duh.

Saturday night Heidi's brother had a party so we hung out in the country. We drank red wine out of glass tumblers and I got to observe country boys in their natural habitat. It was interesting. They all have these trucks with giant tires on them and they'd hook them together and then play like . . . tug of war with them or something. I didn't understand the point, really, but it was entertaining, although at one point I commented that I thought they should just get a ruler, whip out their penises, and be done with it. But they just kept pulling trucks instead. Seems like a lot less work to me, but what do I know? I've never even driven a truck.

I also hurt myself playing beer pong. I'll bet you're wondering how that's possible. Well, see, here's the thing. We'd been playing cornhole before beer pong and just kind of stacked the cornhole boards right next to the beer pong table. I forgot we put them there and went running after a rogue ping pong ball and ran my knee right into one of the cornhole boards. I guess it hurt but I think my body is so used to me hurting it that it doesn't really register pain anymore.

Then I had a total Sophie's Choice moment. I was coming out of the bathroom when Heidi came running in all frantic like Patrick Oleson was chasing her. You guys, CONVERSATIONSWITHMYROOMMATE!

Heidi: Don't go back outside!
Me: Why?
Heidi: Because Scooter is going to ask you out.
Me: But my beer is out there!
Heidi: It's your call, but if you go out there, he's going to ask you out to dinner.
Me: But I barely talked to him all night!
Heidi: Yeah, well.
Me: Shit.
Heidi: Quick! Go in there and pretend to be asleep.
Me: Good call. Bye, beer.

Sigh. Poor beer. It was almost full, too.

LONGEST. DAY. EVER. Week

I'm not sure if you guys knew this, but today was the longest day in the history of the world. True story. See, the thing is . . . I don't know. I don't know what the thing is. I just don't. Sorry.

So, we had this all day training thing at work today. It's for other people, actually, but our department is running it and even though my boss said it was optional I felt obligated to be there because, um, everyone else went. Which meant I was away from both my computer and cell phone for the majority of the day and my head might have exploded a little. Seriously. My brain kind of oozed out one of my ears. Not all of my brain, though. Obviously. Then I had to ask my boss if I could come in late on Friday because I have to go to the hooha doctor that morning and after I asked her I kept thinking, "say no, say no, I want to reschedule, I hate the hooha doctor," because, um, I DO hate the hooha doctor. Who likes the hooha doctor? If you do, there is something wrong with you. QUESTION. Why is the speculum made out of ice cold metal? Why not plastic? Or . . . um . . . silk? I don't know, but what I DO KNOW is that may be the first time I've ever written speculum on this blog, proving that after almost FOUR YEARS, there are still places I have not ventured. Good to know.

The problem with all this training today is that I already know how to do most of the stuff we were talking about. This is both good and bad. Good because if I want to sound smart, I can answer a question or throw in my two cents. But bad because since I already knew what they were talking about, I was finding it harder than usual to pay attention. At one point, I heard, "Jennie? Jennie . . . . . . . . JENNIE," and then I realized that everyone was staring at me and I had no idea why so I just sat there with a stupid grin on my face because in my head I had totally been flying around in a hot air balloon or some crazy nonsense. I think I have a problem. Maybe it's just ADD, but I'm pretty sure it's something they don't make a pill for.