this is the way the world ends

The world is supposed to end tomorrow, so I took the day off. If it's my last day on Earth, I don't want to spend it trapped at work. Plus, this week of work has been an absolute waste of time. No one wants to be working. It's like those last few days of school before Christmas break, when all you do is trade cookies and candy and presents and then watch movies for the rest of the day, but it's worse this year because maybe the world is ending? So why bother with anything, right? Joe and I were recently discussing the impending apocalypse BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT WE DO: 

Me: You know, if you and I could still be together afterward, I don't think I'd really mind if the world ended on Friday.
Joe: Me neither.
Me: And I'd want our friends and family to be there, too.
Joe: Well, they probably would be, what with the world ending and all.
Me: Only if we all end up in the same Hell dimension.
Joe: That's true.
Me: I don't really believe in Hell, though.
Joe: No?
Me: No. I'm pretty sure we all just blink out of existence in the end.
Joe: WOW.

I don't really believe that, though. I don't think. I don't know what I believe. I mean, death is so totally weird, right? Like, one minute you're you, in your body, just hanging out like always, the next moment you're just gone? What IS that? Where did you go?

Right after my grandma died, (and I don't remember how this came up) I found out that some people believe that when you go to Heaven, you don't ever see anyone you knew when you were alive. And I was already depressed but that knocked the wind out of me. Why would anyone want to believe something like that? It's so depressing. I have a problem accepting any idea about the afterlife, really, because no one knows for sure. But I have some ideas, I guess? Though, they're less ideas and more, just, what I WANT the afterlife to be like. But first let's start with what I don't want:

1. I don't want to get to Heaven and have it be full of strangers, like some awful party where I don't know anyone and I'm forced to make awkward small talk until the end of eternity (which I think never ends, maybe?) but then again, if I end up in a place like that, it's probably not Heaven.
2. I'd like to not just blink out of existence. I've grown quite fond of existing, so I'd like to continue to do so in some way.
3. I don't mind the idea of reincarnation, though I'd prefer not to be reincarnated as a dung beetle or a Tea Partier or something.

Here is what would be nice:

1. That I get to hang out with all the people (and pets!) I've known in my life who've died.
2. That I get to hang out with all the other people in my life, but only ones I like.
3. That I can fly.
4. TARDIS PARTY.



That's really all I need. I do like the idea of Heaven that's presented in that movie Defending Your Life. Except for the whole "being on trial" thing. And the possibility that you'd miss out on going to Heaven and have to go back to stinky Earth-life.

So anyway, see you all in Heaven on Saturday (FINGERS CROSSED)! I'll bring the tequila because NO HANGOVERS IN THE AFTERLIFE THAT'S WHY.

today will be better, I swear

There's this lady at work who, every Friday, stops by my office to ask what I'm doing that weekend. She must think I live this super exciting life because she calls me "the social butterfly" of the office. I don't know what they all think I'm doing. I mean, yeah, sometimes I have something fun and exciting to tell them about, like a concert or a date or a trip to Dinosaur World (true story), but like . . . last night? Heidi and I went running and then managed to eat dinner AND go to Target to buy a nunchuck (a Wii nunchuck, not a ninja nunchuck, although that would have been awesome) AND we went to Meijer to look for this flavored beer we had at Nancy's last weekend AND then we went home to play Wii. Then. Oh, then, Internets, my parents called and asked if they could stop by with some friends. Which is how our living room ended up with six adults in it, trying to bowl without breaking anything or hitting anyone in the face. I know it's really sad that my parents came over to find us hanging out in our apartment on a Friday playing Wii with each other (hahaha) but THIS IS MY LIFE and I will not be ashamed.

When they left, Heidi and I tried to play this cracked-out rabbit game, and we were doing pretty well until it came time to throw cows (yeah, I know), and we had to give up because our arms got tired. You try throwing a cow 147 feet. It's tiring. Then Dwight Schrute and Jim Halpert played tennis together. I think they had fun.

At the beginning of our run yesterday (I call it "walking"), this little old lady in a scooter was coming down the sidewalk and Heidi was all, "she's going to run us over," and I said, "no, she's not, she's nice," and Heidi said, "nuh-uh, she's jealous that we have legs that work," and I said, "WOW, you are going to Hell." And then the little old lady stopped us to ask if we'd tell her how much battery power her scooter had left. We told her she had plenty and she kept going. Once she was gone, I said, "ha, it would have been funny if she didn't have any battery power left and we told her she was fine, and then she ran out," so maybe I'm going to Hell, too. Because LATER at Target, this little boy in Crocs (sigh) was running around the movie section playing with his ball (like, a bouncy ball, not one of the balls in his pants) and then he fell down.

I turned to Heidi and was all, "I have special powers. I wished for it to fall down and it fell down!" and she was like, "what fell down?" and I said, "the baby!" and why do I keep calling babies "it?" Anyway. Now seems like a good time to stop talking.

this is probably one of those things I should never share with the Internets

Some backstory: Heidi went on a trip or something back when we first moved in together (um, a year and a half ago) and she brought me back a tiny, tiny bottle of gin & juice. Like the size of tiny bottle that Chandler Bing likes to hold to pretend he's a giant. It's been sitting in the kitchen ever since. Also, we got tired of calling the hot guys who live in our apartment complex "Hot Guy 1" and "Hot Guy 2" so we named them Bernard and Sebastian instead.

Me: This Gin & Juice has been here forever.
Heidi: I know, I can't believe you haven't drank it.
Me: Sorry.
Heidi: I buy you a gift! Out of love! And this is the thanks I get!
Me: Fine! I'll drink it now.
Heidi: Good!
Me: Oh, wait. I can't drink it. It says on here that pregnant women shouldn't drink.
Heidi: Do you have something you want to tell me?
Me: Well. See. You weren't home one night and Sebastian and Bernard came over.
Heidi: Slut.
Me: Yeah, things got out of hand.
Heidi: I guess I'll have to drink the rest of this wine myself.
Me: No, it's OK, cause I'm getting an abortion . . . so I can totally drink wine.
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: Yeah. I can't believe I said that.
Heidi: You bought your ticket to hell with that one.

I love you sweeeeatshirt. RED HOODED sweeeeeeeeeatshirt. DIP DIP DIP.

You guys know how sometimes I don't sleep, right? Um, well, sometimes I don't sleep. And there are some weeks where Heidi doesn't really sleep either and when these weeks collide I call it . . . well, I don't really call it anything.

But this week is one of those weeks. I bet my mom is reading this right now all "You're STILL NOT SLEEPING? I thought I told you to go to the doctor!" but I don't LIKE to go to the doctor and I feel like I've been at the doctor way too much lately. I prefer when there are years between doctor visits, not weeks. IT'S UNNATURAL AND WRONG AND I WON'T DO IT ANYMORE.

Anyway, um, what? Oh, right, not sleeping. I can tell when the not-sleeping is starting to become a problem because I start acting drunk when in reality I have not had a drop of alcohol since like . . . Tuesday. Like, last night we were watching Ugly Betty and I got really bored and on Halloween Steve left his big, giant, yellow 70's glasses at our apartment and they were sitting right next to me on the end table. So I put them on. Over my regular glasses. And then I was all, "excuse me, Heidi, I have something urgent and important to tell you" and she ripped her attention away from Ugly Betty and then she died laughing. I swear. Then she came back to life and took a picture of me in my two pairs of glasses reading some F. Scott Fitzgerald. We laughed so hard you guys. It was like the time we drank a bottle of wine and then looked at lolcats. Only we had no wine last night. None. Also, I told Heidi that someone found my blog by Googling "accidental butt sex," and then WE Googled "accidental butt sex" (I'm on page 2 of the results, btw) and it turns out this one girl really did have accidental butt sex. I won't go into details. YOU'RE WELCOME.

And then this happened:

Me: I love you sweeaaaaatSHIRT. RED HOODED sweeeeeaaaatSHIRT. DIP DIP DIP.
Heidi: Um, what are you singing?
Me: HELLO. The red-hooded sweatshirt song?
Heidi: . . .
Me: BY ADAM SANDLER.
Heidi: Oh.
Me: Oh, THAT IS IT, you need to see this.

And then we watched it. It was as awesome as I remember.

Also, last week, Heidi was just sitting on the couch reading a magazine and I was all, "who do you think would win in a fight . . . Han Solo or Indiana Jones?" and she gave me this look like . . . what? She answered and half-heartedly debated the subject for a couple of minutes, but I could tell she really wanted to go back to her magazine. I mean, I think the answer is obviously Han Solo. Indiana Jones may be handy with a whip, but Han Solo has a blaster and CHEWBACCA. So. You do the math.

And earlier today? One of our employees called me from Iraq and it was really hard to talk to him because there was a weird delay after anything either of us said. So I had him repeat his email address like 87 times and he was like "blah blah at echo echo charlie dot mil," and I almost stopped him and asked him what the hell kind of email address is blahblah@echoechocharlie.mil? But then I got what he was doing. Do you see why I need to start sleeping? Insomnia is making me stupider than I already am and I cannot function like that.

This has nothing to do with not sleeping, but you guys, I am seriously about to go crazy. This girl in my office has been listening to Christmas music for like two weeks now. I swear. And it's so loud. And one day she listened to " The 12 Pains of Christmas" on repeat for like an hour. IT'S TOO EARLY FOR CHRISTMAS MUSIC. And someone put up a tiny Christmas tree! IT'S TOO EARLY FOR CHRISTMAS TREES, I DON'T CARE HOW WEE IT IS. Do you remember that episode of Grey's Anatomy where Cristina Yang goes all Grinchy and takes that little kid's Christmas tree out of his room? And Burke got all that sand in his vagina because she didn't buy into his "spirituality" and happy Christmas bullshit? I'm totally on her side.

Surprise, surprise.

i am doomd

I'm pretty sure I wrote notes just like this at church when I was little.

Heh.

Michael, 5K means five kilometers, not five thousand miles.

The other day, Heidi and I were watching live TV, which doesn't happen very often because we TiVo everything. Not like, everything in the whole world, but like everything that we watch. You know? YOU know.

Anyway, so this meant we saw commercials. Which hardly ever happens. And there was this one commercial where this kid is playing in a pool and it starts raining and his mom or dad (don't remember which and NOT IMPORTANT) comes out and is all, "get inside, Timmy, before the lightening gets you." I may be embellishing. And then this lady comes on and is all . . . 1 in every 150,000 people is struck by lightening. BUT one in every 150 children will be diagnosed with autism. And I was all . . . what? I mean, I sort of get what they were trying to say. Like, your kid probably won't get struck by lightening but he might get autism. OK. But what's with just comparing random statistics like that? It's like, um, 1 in every 150,000 people will have accidental butt sex but 1 in every 150 people will eat mediocre ice cream this year. Yeah, I realize I'm not proving my point very well, but what you DON'T know is . . . I don't care.

Anyway, so Heidi and I tried to go running earlier. We were going to go up to the track at the high school, because it's flat and made of rubber and doesn't make my shins want to fall off. When we left, it had started raining but we decided to drive up to the high school anyway. Because . . . we thought that like five miles away it wouldn't be raining? OK. But it was. And then we saw lightening.

Heidi: Uh oh, lightening.
Me: Well, don't worry. You're much more likely to come down with autism than get struck by lightening.

We didn't end up running outside because we decided that we didn't feel like getting struck by lightening today. We went to the gym instead and ran on the treadmill. And I didn't fall off and hurt myself. And we avoided getting struck by lightening. So it's been a pretty good day, I guess.

lying on the floor, lying on the floor, I've come undone

It only took about an hour of volunteering, but I have outed myself as a smartass. Remember how no kids showed up the other night? No? Well, no kids showed up the other night. On my first night of volunteering. Off to a great start! While we waited to see if there would be any latecomers, the director, the other volunteers and I sat around and talked. The director asked everyone to go around the circle, say their name, their job, and how long they had been volunteering with Oak Tree. When it was my turn, I said, "my name's Jennie, I work in HR, and I've been doing this for, oh, about an hour now." Then I waited through the uncomfortably long silence until finally everyone started laughing. Thank god. Because in my mind? People laughing at what I say = they like me. Close call.

Last night, there was one more training session, only it really had nothing to do with training and everything to do with sitting around and TALKING about what we'd learned in training blah blah blah. The director also lead us through this relaxation visualization exercise, where we all had to sit around with our eyes closed, breathing deeply and visualizing what she was telling us to do. Basically, it involved walking through a forest, meeting a guide, and traveling back to times when we'd experienced loss. I KNOW. I mean, I guess it was nice to just sit there in the dark and relax but I'm not very good at the whole visualization thing. Like, when she told us to pick a guide, in my head I picked someone and then we were supposed to start walking but instead we started talking and suddenly I was way behind where I was supposed to be. I actually found the whole "journey" sort of silly so instead I made up adventures for my guide and I to go on. Since yesterday was Talk Like a Pirate Day, our adventures involved a lot of swashbuckling. Um, but then when we were done and allowed to open our eyes we had to go around the circle and say what had happened! I thought about maybe bursting into tears and pretending to be too verklempt to share, but luckily I can spew a line of bullshit in my sleep, so I just made most of it up. Oh and also? During the whole relaxation thing, I just kept worrying that I wasn't relaxed enough. Like, I kept thinking, "Are you breathing deeply enough? Does your body feel relaxed? No? You're still sitting up perfectly straight . . . that is not relaxing. Although good posture is important. I'd hate to become a hunchback just because I got too good at relaxing. OK, concentrate. Relax. Relax! I SAID RELAX, DAMMIT! I wonder if I'm relaxed enough. I bet everyone else is way more relaxed than I am. I SUCK at relaxing."

Then finally the training was over. I'm excited to just get into the actual volunteering, mostly because I am much more comfortable with listening to other people talk than I am with talking about myself.

Arrrrrgh, matey!

Sorry, I'm just sad that Talk Like a Pirate Day is over.

So I will need a new number two. My ideal choice? Jack Bauer. But he is unavailable. Fictional. And overqualified.

So remember a couple of months ago when I was all obsessed with that new radio station? It's OK if you don't. I can barely keep track of all my obsessions, I don't expect you to. Anyway, I'm still pretty obsessed with it. But not as much. I switch to other radio stations sometimes and now that my car actually has a CD player rather than just a tape player that makes everything sound like The Chipmunks, I'm just as likely to be listening to this as to the radio.

Let me tell you how great this radio station is. There's this song, MAYBE YOU'VE HEARD OF IT, called "Hey There Delilah," that I heard, I don't know, a long time ago and loved. How much did I love it? A lot. Like, OK, this one time? Heidi and I were sitting in our apartment with the balcony door open? And a car pulled up in the parking lot and was playing that song really loud and Heidi was all, "is that you?" It wasn't, though. I haven't figured out how to clone myself yet, but WHEN I DO, be afraid. Be very afraid. ANYWAY. I was going to buy the CD but then I listened to the band's other songs on Myspace and didn't like any of them and now I'm really, really glad I didn't buy the CD because I have heard from several people that it sucks because they are a whiny, whiny punk band. CLOSE CALL. Anyway, so that was months and months ago and I'm just now starting to hear the song on the regular radio. And when I say regular radio, I mean the stations that basically play the same 20 songs all day long and make me want to jam a ninja star in my ear.

I don't remember my point, or if I even had one, so OH WELL to that. Hey, remember the butt sandwich? (Also see: THIS). Well, I'm eating another one today. That was all that was left, only we had a whole other loaf sitting right next to the butt loaf and I thought about just throwing the butts away but that is WASTEFUL and there are starving children in Africa who would kill for the butts. Then I thought about maybe feeding the geese and ducks with the butts but the other night two gooses (heh) totally CHASED ME because I accidentally got too close to their babies. SO. SORRY. And that is why I am eating the butts.

This morning as I was driving to work, I went a different way and drove through a school zone which meant I had to go 20 MPH, which is basically not moving at all. And I started thinking that school zones are pointless. Really, if the kids are too stupid to get out of the middle of the road, maybe it's a good thing that cars hit them. Thinning the herd, you know? Before they can grow up and be President. (ZING!) Then I realized that I am a horrible person who should not be allowed to talk to anyone. Also, I think I stole the whole no school zone speed limit/thinning the herd thing from somewhere but I don't know where.

THEN! I remembered this conversation that Heidi and I had the other day that was ALMOST IDENTICAL to one we had almost a year ago. Did you hear that? That was my mind blowing.

Me: I have something sad to tell you.
Heidi: What?
Me: I watched Maroon 5 on SNL the other day, and they were not good.
Heidi: Oh, no!
Me: Yes. And I've seen them live and they're VERY good live.
Heidi: I know, I've seen them, too.
Me: I was sad.
Heidi: I can imagine. I don't like the lead singer, though.
Me: Oh, I do.
Heidi: He's a manwhore!
Me: I don't care.
Heidi: And he seems really full of himself.
Me: I'd still do him.
Heidi: Ew.
Me: I would.
Heidi: I know. But I think he looks like a weasel.
Me: Oh yeah? Well, I'd do that weasel SO HARD.
Heidi: Wow.

I know, right? See what I mean about how I should not be allowed to talk to people? Also, I'm sorry if conversations about butt sex and Jesus and doing weasels offend you, but you should see the conversations I DON'T post on here. Oh wait, no. I'm glad you can't see those.

This post is very linky. Which might be a good thing. It'll give you guys something to do while you're killing time at work and waiting for the three day weekend to roll around. Don't pretend you're not. I know you're doing it. I can see you. Wow. Creepy, right? I know. Sorry. OK, bye. Oh, here's something funny. Here, this too. Enjoy, slackers!

It's totally time to write this movie

Do you ever wish you could just come out and ask a person the question that has been on your mind for months, tact and good sense be damned*? Or just say whatever you want to whoever you want without worrying about the consequences? Without using alcohol as courage, of course. This has nothing to do with anything, really, I was just thinking about it earlier.

Last night, not only did Heidi and I go to the gym, we also played tennis. Well. "Played" tennis. Our goal right now is to just make contact with the ball. We're going to worry about aiming later. And now, here are some Conversations With My Roommate because I'm lazy and don't know what else to write.

Whiny kid outside our apartment riding his bike: You guuuyyyys, wait UP!
Me: Oh, that is so the kid nobody likes.
Heidi: Yeah, it sounds like he's got some sand in his vagina.

Heidi: Uh-oh, I spilled ketchup on the counter.
Me: Heidi!
Heidi: Oops.
Me: I told you! No more performing abortions in the kitchen!
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: I know, I can't believe I just made an abortion joke.
Heidi: Me neither.
Me: What is wrong with my brain?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Abortion jokes . . . can't get better than that. Except for maybe Holocaust jokes.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: Anyway, make sure you clean up the fetus before we eat dinner.
Heidi: Oh my god.

Heidi: I'll get our tennis rackets.
Me: Don't forget our pink balls.
Heidi: Oh, I won't. They're very important.
Me: Yeah, you can't leave your house without your balls.
Heidi: You'd be ball-less.
Me: How embarrassing. And what if you lost one?
Heidi: You could still leave the house, you'd just have one ball.
Me: What the hell are you gonna do with one ball?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: You might as well have sand in your vagina.

Me: We're getting pretty good. I think we're ready to take on Andre Agassi.
Heidi: We so are.
Me: Maybe even Pete Sampras.
Heidi: Oh, hell yes.
Me: Not Andy Roddick, though.
Heidi: Definitely not.
Me: He's too pretty and I'd get distracted.
Heidi: And balls would hit you in the face.
Me: Not tennis balls, though.
Heidi: Hahahaha!
Me: No, seriously, what's wrong with my brain?

Heidi and I actually did figure out what's wrong with my brain. It was pretty simple actually and makes so much sense but I'm not going to explain it because it would take too long and my lunch break is only an hour.

Aaaaanyway, while we played tennis, Heidi worked on her Anna Kournikova serve and I worked on my Monica Seles crazy screaming. The hitting-the-ball crazy screaming, not the oh-my-god-some-psycho-just-stabbed-me crazy screaming.

*I have actually done this. It does not always end well. Or at least the way you're hoping it does. But don't worry, everything turns out OK. So what I'm saying is, just do it. Chickenshit.