some housekeeping (and whatnot)

1. I decided to create one of those Life Lists all the kids have been talking about (you know, since like five years ago) but still haven't thought of 100 things. I'm filling it slowly. I'm up to 35, which is going to take me a year to fulfill just by itself, so I can't say I'm in a huge hurry to think of the next 65 things. I think I'm going to keep the list itself private, at least until it's all written, except for #35. I'm quite fond of #35.

Some of you may know how often I use FutureMe. I send my future self a letter on every birthday (well, except for last year, apparently) and randomly whenever I feel like it. It's kind of like getting a note from the past. Actually, it's not kind of like that at all, it's exactly like that. ANYWAY.

Number 35 on my Life List can be described thusly: I'm going to send myself a FutureMe letter every week for a year. Each letter will be set to be delivered a year from when it's sent. So next year, starting on June 12th, I'll start receiving a letter from the past once a week.

So that'll be fun! Or depressing. (Both?)



2. Update! The groundhogs are gone (relocated gone, not dead gone). Did I already tell you guys that? I was kind of sad for a couple of days because I missed watching them frolic through the yard. Oh well, there are always YouTube videos. Joe saw some chipmunks running under the shed the other day. I guess they heard there was a vacancy and a groundhog hole is probably like a mansion to a bunch of chipmunks, so they wasted no time. Chipmunks are bad for the foundation or whatever, much like groundhogs, but they will probably not claw Max's face off, so we're not too worried about them BECAUSE ALSO...

3. We're totally going to tear that shed down. I AM SO EXCITED TO USE A SLEDGEHAMMER. But first we have to remove the roof, and there might be wasps living in part of it, so we have to kill those first. I wish we didn't have to kill anything, even wasps, but they will not listen to my polite requests to "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, STINGING MACHINES AHHHHHHHHH," when I see them in the backyard, so killing it is.

4. The rest of the house is going to (hopefully) remain standing, so I hope it doesn't miss the shed. We're thinking of having a Demolition Party so we don't accidentally maim ourselves tearing the shed down on our own. It's BYOSledgehammer. Bring your friends.

5. You know what's crazy about having a house? You have to, like, take care of things yourself. Like, no one has taken it upon themselves to come water my flowers (only they're not MY flowers, I didn't plant them and so I feel no ownership over them) so some of them are dying. And there are some crazy plants growing that are also sort of dying, but I think that's OK because they might be weeds? I tried to go out one weekend and trim everything, because it looks a bit jungle-y in our garden, but there were bees and wasps all over and I think we've gone over how I feel about stinging things. You win this round, bees.

(OK, and all rounds.)

blake's got a new face

Dear Internets,

You would not believe how productive I've been today. Especially since I've only been awake for less than three hours. I mean, sure, I sat around and drank coffee for a while BUT THEN I paid bills and renewed my license plates (what a fucking rip off) and did some laundry and listened to the Vampire Weekend album THREE TIMES (thank you, Kat!).

I figured before I showered or started working on How to Knit a Bunny (siiiiigh), I'd better tell you all about how productive I've been, because if the Internets doesn't care, WHO DOES? Good question, I have no idea.

Last night, Heidi and I went to a hockey game. See:



That's what hockey looks like. And since Monday is St. Patrick's Day, they were serving green beer. Until they ran out. Jerks. At some point during the second period, Heidi and I both realized we had no knowledge about The Hockey whatsoever.

Heidi: Oh, they're taking another intermission.
Me: Zamboni!
Heidi: How many periods are there?
Me: I don't know. Three?
Heidi: Oh.
Me: That doesn't seem right, though, cause it's an uneven number.
Heidi: Is it over now?
Me: I don't know. Maybe there are four periods? But then the game will be on forever.
Heidi: Hmm.

Anyway, I have more productive things to do now, so I'd better go. That To Do list isn't going to do itself. Heh. I wish it would, though. While I was making it, I wrote stuff down that I knew I wouldn't get to today and WHAT FOR? What's the point of making a To Do list if you don't get to cross everything off IMMEDIATELY?

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.

ripping off Jane Austen, one day at a time

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the moment you get bad news, The Universe sets out to either A) help you out a little by giving you some good news or B) DESTROY YOU.

OK, I have no idea whether or not that's a truth universally acknowledged. I just wanted to start one of my blog entries with, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that blah blah blah something something." If you know why I'd want to start an entry like that, then I love you and you know why I love you.

Anyway, if that thing I said up there IS true, then I'm certainly glad The Universe followed up my bad news with option A.

You'd better brace yourself, Internets, for I have something both shocking and sad to tell you. Bo (my aunt and uncle's cat that comes to visit sometimes; seen here) aka The Most Loving Cat In All The Land aka The Cat Phoebe Loves to Hate . . . has gone to Pet Heaven. It all happened very suddenly which is why it is SHOCKING. And it happened to the nicest cat in the world which is why it is SAD. Let's all have a moment of silence for Bo.

The Universe, however, decided to then give me good news and BOOM now my friend Mary is coming to visit this weekend! Hijinks shall ensure, don't you worry about that, and I hope the weekend will be forever immortalized. Just like last time. I'm glad I have Monday off to recuperate.

_____

Today on The Collective, I talk and talk and talk some more about the last book I read.

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

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.

If you really wanted to screw me up, you should've gotten to me earlier.

This morning I spent . . . um, way too long trying to get 94.9 (THE SOUND) on the radio in my office. I WOULD just listen to it online, but I can't because my company blocks anything fun (like, say, if you go to Youtube and search for "unicorn planet" . . . trust me). The reason I wanted, nay, NEEDED, to listen to 94.9 is because they're playing Perfect 10's all day. Which basically means people submit their 10 favorite songs and then they play them. That was pretty self-explanatory, I guess. Please don't think I think you're all so stupid that you don't know what a Perfect 10 is BECAUSE I DON'T.

The reason I love when they play Perfect 10's is because every so often, someone else's Perfect 10 will so closely resemble my own (you know, should I ever actually sit down and compile one) that I just know if we met we'd be BFF. I know that's probably not true, I just like to say BFF. This one time? I was in the car listening to some guy's Perfect 10 and every time a new song came on I would say, "HEY! I love this song!" especially when he played "Blister in the Sun" because, um, I love that song. And I thought to myself, "Jennie (for that is my name) . . . if he plays Death Cab for Cutie or something by The Shins, I believe he might be your soulmate," and I almost called the radio station to try and talk them into giving me the guy's phone number when the next song that came on was this one.

I love listening to Perfect 10's because it's like listening to someone's favorite mix-tape. I love mix-tapes. Although now I believe they are called "iPods." Whatever. Also, it makes me think of High Fidelity, a movie I absolutely hated when I first saw it (I was all of . . . I don't know, 18?) but when I watched it (and read it) again recently I was all "18-year-old Jennie was stupid," which . . . duh. At the end of the movie, Rob makes a mix-tape for Laura, something no one has ever done for me. If some guy ever made me a mix-tape even half as perfect as my Perfect 10, then I might be tempted to have his babies. Probably not, though. Probably I'd be so freaked out that someone knew me so well they could make something even remotely close to my Perfect 10, I'd never talk to him again. Because I'm a tiny bit fucked up. Maybe more than a tiny bit. I once told a guy that I think everyone is at least a tiny bit fucked up, and it wasn't until he started to disagree with me that I realized I actually believed what I'd said. Point proven, as far as I'm concerned.

Rule #76: No excuses. Play like a champion!

Do you ever go through phases where you don't feel like the life you're living is your own? Or like you're really dreaming and any moment you're going to wake up and everything will come crashing down? Or that finally, FINALLY, pieces of your life seem to be falling into place and you're afraid to breathe too hard in case they drift away in the wind again? Is it possible to feel all of this at one time? Because that's how I've been feeling lately. Not that things are perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but when are things ever perfect? My major problem is waiting until things seem perfect to make any kind of change, which explains why I don't make changes that often. Because I plan EVERYTHING in my head, down to conversations that NOT ONLY haven't happened yet, but may never happen. Lately, I've decided to say "fuck that!" (exclamation point, very important) and do whatever the hell I want, planned or not, if I think it has even the slightest possibility of turning out well.

What I'm saying is I don't really feel like myself. I feel like a better version of myself. I'm going to turn in my resignation when my boss gets into the office this afternoon and I'm not nervous. At all. I test the butterflies every few minutes by thinking about handing him that letter and they've been quiet, unfluttering, since I got the phone call yesterday. Do you realize how strange it is for me not to be nervous about something? I get nauseous sometimes before making a phone call.

This is all leading me to believe that my body is getting ready to stage some kind of coup, and the moment I hand over my letter I will also throw up all over my boss. What an exit.