working on my backwards walk

Everything seems to be making me super nostalgic lately and I don’t know if it’s because I’m listening to music from high school and college and watching old favorite TV shows or if I’m doing those things because I’m suffering from extreme nostalgia.

We went to see Frightened Rabbit last Tuesday, LIKE YOUNG PEOPLE, even though it meant we’d be out late on a school night because: Frightened Rabbit, OK? The concert was at Bogart’s in Cincinnati, and, not being huge fans of Bogart’s (the now defunct Southgate House being far superior), we went anyway because: FRIGHTENED RABBIT, OK? Bogart’s isn’t that bad, really. It’s just very cave-like, kind of like a hobbit hole but darker and dirtier and with stickier floors.

I looked up directions to Bogart’s the day before the concert, not because I didn’t remember how to get there (though...I didn’t) or even needed to know how to get there (Joe always knows how to get places) but because I wanted to see how long it would take us to get there from our house, so I could plan plenty of time for dinner, drinks, etc. Planning! It’s what’s for dinner.

As I so often do when looking up directions, I went to street view almost immediately because I like to pretend the tiny, yellow guy is me and I’m actually visiting those places. As soon as I set his/my sights on Bogart’s, though, I was hit by a wave of extreme nostalgia.

My Photoshop skills are unparalleled.

I don’t know where it came from. I’ve seen a handful of concerts at Bogart’s but I didn’t realize it was a place that held much emotional significance for me. I saw Spoon there, before I met Joe, though I found out later that he was there, too. We saw Andrew Bird there a few years ago, but my most vivid memory from that concert was that I was really sick and hopped up on cold medicine and I whined the whole time until we left early. I still feel bad about that.

I’m not sure when we stopped going to so many concerts. We don’t have as much money to spend on them now that we have a house, because it turns out having a house is basically like having a giant, needy baby. And we really only go to concerts if they’re on a weekend, our reasoning being that it’s irresponsible to get home on a school night after midnight, especially if something important is going on at work the next day. The repercussions are worse now if I stay up too late or have that extra beer. I’m busier at work and have more responsibilities than just showing up.

So maybe that’s it. I was just feeling nostalgic for another time in my life, that time when it felt like I had fewer responsibilities, more freedom to do whatever I wanted and could say SCREW FUTURE!JENNIE AND HER DUMB, WHINY FACE without too many negative consequences. Yet, when I woke up on Wednesday, I wasn’t all that tired. Work wasn’t any more of a struggle than it normally is. And I was happy to realize I could still go out and act like a young person during the week.

And as I stood at that weeknight concert, listening to Frightened Rabbit play a setlist not all that different than the one they played when we saw them a few years ago, I thought about how much my life has changed, what with the marriage and the house and all of my friends squirting out babies, but also how I’m still very much that same person I was then. I’m still a total weirdo, I still hate standing the whole time at concerts (my feet get tired! everyone is taller than me!), and I even have the exact same concert wardrobe that I’ve always had: hoodie, jeans, chucks. So maybe getting old won’t be all that bad. At least I’ll be comfortable, you know? (See above, re: chucks).

This entire post was just an excuse to post a Tennant GIF.

I wanna quit the gym!

And so I'm going to. It was a fun experiment. Well, not fun, really, but interesting. OK, not even really interesting. Heidi and I joined the gym last year because we got a really good deal, but I was in better shape when we were training for the Turkey Trot and just going running a couple times a week (outside in the fresh air, not in the gym that sometimes smells like stinky feet and BO and bean farts) than I was when I was going the gym almost every day. Also, the Cardio Cinema seemed like such an amazing concept when we first joined, but most of the time they're showing a movie I hate. Or a movie that makes me want to kill myself. Or a Dane Cook movie, which I hate AND makes me want to kill myself. I realize that part of this is my own fault, because I tend to not like a lot of movies but WHY do they insist on showing Rush Hour 3? Why? And it pisses me off that sometimes they'll play the same movie a few days in a row. This is sort of OK if it's a good movie (see: Tommy Boy) but I find it unnecessary and annoying when it's a shitty movie (see: A Cinderella Story.)

I like the classes they offer, but I don't like GOING to classes. I don't like scheduling workout time. I like to work out when I feel like it (or when I finally guilt myself into doing it) but for some reason the gym refuses to employ a class method where I can just call ahead and tell them to get a class ready because I'm going to be there in five minutes. I don't know why they won't do this for me. They are so unreasonable and I guess they don't understand that I don't like being on a schedule. It's bad enough that I'm told when to be at work and when I can leave blah blah blah YOU GET ONE HOUR FOR LUNCH, so I don't want the gym telling me my business, too.

ALSO (and this is the big one, which is why it's all caps locky), half of the machines in that place are pieces of shit. I don't want to ride on an elliptical that shakes around and makes horrible noises on every rotation because I'm afraid it's going to fall apart and I'll either die or it'll be really embarrassing. I'm not sure which is worse.

___

Today on The Collective, Heather totally cheats on her freebie list.

boys have a penis, girls have a vagiiiiiina

Heidi once told me that she doesn't understand how I can go on and on about wanting to dropkick small children and yet I volunteer with children, both large and small. But the thing is, I feel the same way about children as I do about people. Some would say children ARE people. I, however, remain unconvinced. I think people in general are assholes, YET there are individuals that I love, love, love with all my heart and I would willingly give them all of my internal organs, you know, if I didn't need those to live and everything. Same goes for children. As a whole, they are messy and they fart a lot and they are loud. Oh, are they ever loud. But children on an individual basis? These I can handle. Once I know their names, they are as precious to me as . . . I don't know, something really precious.

I mean, what ELSE but precious could I consider a 5-year-old girl, one who had been clinging to me ever since her grandmother dropped her off, who says things like this:

"Sometimes? My brother kicks me in the nut."

Now. We are supposed to repeat a lot of what the kids say, because it shows them that we're listening, and as I said, "Oh? He kicks you in the nut?" and she nodded and said, "IN THE NUT," and I repeated, "Oh, he kicks you in THE NUT," I began to wonder if last night would finally be the night they'd ask me to leave and never, ever return.

_____

Today on The Collective, F. Scott Fitzgerald makes Kat swoon so hard she'll NEVER. FULLY. RECOVER.

it's nine o'clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in

You know how a lot of movies have karaoke scenes? Like , one of the main characters is forced to stand in front of a crowd of unfriendly faces and sing? And initially, they're all nervous and everyone is like, "Booooo! Get off the stage, loser!" but then the main character is all, "No, fuck YOU, I will now proceed to sing my ASS off, if you don't mind," and then they do. The rock the fuck out and maybe they're not very good (see: Cameron Diaz, My Best Friend's Wedding) but the crowd doesn't care because they're SO INTO IT.

The truth is, I've always sort of hoped this would happen to me. I don't understand this impulse. At all. I hate talking in front of people, even small groups, and I will only sing karaoke if I am so drunk that I won't remember it the next day. But I've always thought, if I were forced to get up on stage and sing, I might get that movie moment where everyone in the crowd is like, "oh my god, I heart that girl and must buy her a shot." I don't know WHY I think there is any chance of this happening, because if anyone ever tried to force me to get up on stage and sing, the most likely course of action I would take would be to kick them in the shin and then run into the bathroom and lock myself in one of the stalls. But, just in case(s), I've decided I need to be ready.

I need The Song. You know. The Song I will use to make everyone fall in love with me. It's a tricky prospect, and one I've been giving a lot of thought. I like to sing, you know, in the shower and in the car and OK around the apartment a lot, and I used to do a pretty killer Kelly Clarkson impression, but I would by no stretch of the imagination ever call myself a singer. So I need a really easy song. And obviously one with which I am already VERY familiar, like . . . "I Think I Love You" or "Ring of Fire." Or I could go another route and pick a song that doesn't require any singing ability whatsoever, like "Ice Ice Baby" or "I Like Big Butts," but would make people chuckle and say, "hee, that white girl is rapping."

OR I could choose a song that the crowd can't help but sing along to. Like "Livin on a Prayer" or EVEN BETTER "Don't Stop Believin." I mean, is there anyone in the world can hear, "She's just a small town girl . . ." and resist yelling, "livin in a LOOOOONLEY WOOOORD?" Because if there is such a person, I would like to meet them. So I could ask them what the hell is wrong with them. Anyway, if I'm singing one of these songs and everyone else is ALSO singing along, then they won't be paying me very much attention. Although, this probably also means they won't fall in love with me and buy me drinks, so that kind of defeats the point.

I think my best bet is to pick a song that I love. And I mean love like "I wanna have your baby and raise it and even though I will probably end up resenting both you and the baby for ruining my sanity AND my body, I can't help loving you anyway" love. So in that case, I think I'm gonna have to go with something like "Proud Mary" or "Don't Look Back in Anger."

The other night, we found out that this bar we really like has karaoke on Thursday nights. So, I don't know why I'm still sitting around talking to you people when CLEARLY I should be practicing.

oh baby pleeeeeeeeease . . . give a little respect . . . toooo-ooooo MEEEEEEE

The other night, I decided to Tim Gunn my closet. Tim Gunn is like Stacy and Clinton put together, only nicer and way gayer. I wish Tim Gunn was my uncle so he could tell me what to wear ALL THE TIME. Because I need that much help, people. Left to my own devices, I have one of two uniforms:

1. t-shirt, jeans, flip-flops
2. long-sleeved old navy shirt, jeans, tennis shoes

Uncle Tim would make me wear skirts! And dresses! And fancy underwear! Which, OK, that'd be a little weird. Actually, on his show, Tim Gunn doesn't help pick out the fancy underwear, Veronica does. Because not even Tim Gunn is that gay. Or women's underwear makes him uncomfortable. Or both.

Anyway, so I cleaned out my closet and now have a huge stack of clothes to give to Goodwill. Some of the clothes? I don't know why I was holding onto them. First of all, a lot of them were far too big. Second of all, I found stuff that I never even knew I had. Like this one shirt? It is the ugliest, most heinous shirt I have ever seen IN ALL MY YEARS. I'm pretty sure it was a gift because I would never spend money on something like this. It was saved from Goodwill, though, at least for a couple of days because it might be perfect for my Halloween costume. Thanks, Tim Gunn!

So now I just have to work on collecting Tim Gunn's 10 essentials, WHICH ARE:

1. Basic black dress (check!)
2. Trench coat (no check)
3. Classic dress pants (check!)
4. White shirt (check, but I don't like it and it doesn't look very good on me, so UNCHECK)
5. Jeans (oh, CHECK)
6. Cashmere sweater (are you kidding?)
7. Skirt (eh)
8. Day dress (yeah right)
9. Blazer (check!)
10. Sweat suit alternative (who even still buys sweat suits?)

I think Tim Gunn and I differ a lot on what constitutes a sweat suit alternative. Because a lot of the time these women end up wearing a dress as a sweat suit alternative. Um, what? No. Would you wear a dress to go grocery shopping? Or take out the trash? Or give your dog a bath? I hope not. Otherwise, you've got bigger problems than the fact that you own a SWEAT SUIT.

WARNING: hooha talk ahead

things you don't want to hear from your lady doctor PART 1:

"We saw something abnormal on your test and need you to come in for a biopsy," is what I heard about a month ago. I made my biopsy appointment, freaked out for a couple of days and then forgot about it until Friday, when I started freaking out again. My appointment was yesterday, which means I spent part of my precious day off with my legs up in stirrups while my doctor poked around my lady parts.

things you don't want to hear from your lady doctor PART 2:

"Basically this will be like a 20 minute pap smear."

Oh, that's it? That sounds like so much fun! I love pap smears! Um. 20 minutes? 20 minutes?!? I could watch an episode of The Daily Show in that amount of time! I just wish they'd told me beforehand. I would have taken a book to read.

things you don't want to hear from your lady doctor PART 3:

Dr: Crap.
Me: Um . . . everything OK down there?
Dr: Fine. You just won't stop bleeding.
Me: Oh god.

Actually, the whole procedure wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. Except for when they told me it was actually THREE biopsies and not just one. I like how they didn't tell me until after I was already in the exam room and had taken my pants off. It's hard to run away if all you're wearing over your bottom half is a thin, white, paper sheet. Trust me, I tried.

Hi, I'm Chandler and I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable

YOU GUYS. Check this out:

Book Inscriptions

I'm totally published.

ALSO. It's hot outside. I don't like to sweat in my work clothes. Those clothes are not for sweating. These are the clothes for sweating: shorts, tank tops, t-shirts, sports bra, no clothes. That is all.

AND ALSO. When I got home from work just now, there was a hot guy in our apartment parking lot. I've never seen Hot Guy before, but he was hot and he was wearing a suit and he was carrying a man bag, but not like a girly man bag, like a Jim Halpert man bag. I felt like I should have asked Hot Guy in for a cold beverage, because wearing a suit must have been miserable, but he was on the phone. Actually, he was standing next to his car with the door open and when I pulled into the parking spot, I almost hit him and took his door off. Oops, but it was his fault, really, for standing there with his door open being all hot and distracting me. I mean, he almost made me forget the wine in my car and that would have been a tragedy indeed. I got wine because of this cellular phone device Conversation With My Roommate:

Me: HEIDI.
Heidi: Yes?
Me: I have several important questions for you.
Heidi: OK.
Me: One! Do you want to skip the gym tonight?
Heidi: Haha, YES.
Me: OK, good. Two! Do you want me to stop and get a bottle of wine on the way home?
Heidi: Um, of course.
Me: Awesome, because I am feeling the need to drink and drink until I never wake up.
Heidi: Wow, that's not good.
Me: Today was the LONGEST. DAY. EVER. Anyway, QUESTION THREE, do you want to have Papa Murphy's for dinner?
Heidi: YES.

So that happened. Do you all have Papa Murphy's? If not, then I feel sorry for you. It's take and bake (and I helped hahahahaha oh god, sorry). Anyway, you go there, they make the pizza while you watch and then you take it home and cook it. It's delicious and even better? It's so cheap. Cheap and easy. Just like your mom. Hahahahaha oh god, sorry.

But seriously, wtf, this is the longest week I have ever been a part of. It could be because we've had visitors in our office all week and I have to be nice to them and being nice is hard. Or that we had training yesterday and today. Or MAYBE it's because I'm so fucking tired. And the REASON I'm so fucking tired is because I have inexplicably woken up an hour before my alarm EACH AND EVERY DAY THIS WEEK and then I just lie there NOT SLEEPING. Until like three minutes before my alarm goes off so I hit snooze 19 times and then I'm late for work. Only I haven't been late to work, which is odd, because sometimes when I get up early and have all the time in the world, I'm still late to work. I don't know.

So I have to go to the lady doctor tomorrow. What a GREAT way to start my weekend. I'm really, really looking forward to having my vagina put on display and being poked and prodded with metal instruments. It's awesome. Those of you with vaginas know what I'm talking about. If this paragraph is offending you then you're probably not going to want to read what I write after tomorrow's appointment. Don't say I didn't warn you.

if I wanna take a GUY home with me TONIGHT, IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

I will tell almost anyone almost anything. Especially if I've been drinking. See, normal people have a filter between their brain and their mouth that stops them from saying certain things. Things like jokes about abortion or comments about drowning babies or just saying the word penis over and over. I'm pretty sure I was born without this filter. I mean, fine, whatever, I've learned to live with it and so have the people around me.

I have to go to the lady doctor next week and they sent me this packet telling me how to log into my chart online. Ooh la la, technology . . . too sexy, too sexy! Basically, they just want you to fill out your medical history before you come in. My guess is, they're tired of patients coming in late and then having to wait for them to fill out their medical history, find their insurance card, blah blah blah, and then the asshole, I mean patient throws their whole schedule off. I used to work in a doctor's office so I know how annoying patients can be.

I find it very, very difficult to be honest with doctors. I don't know why. You go to the doctor so they can find a problem with you right? Or tell you that you're problem-free? But I want to lie to them. About everything. I'm so afraid they'll tell me I'm not normal and let's face it, at this point in my life, shouldn't that be obvious? I also always worry that they're going to judge me. Like with the questions about if you've ever smoked? I wish I could write in my own answers because I'd write, "yes, but only when completely shitfaced," but then I'd have to explain how many beers equals completely shitfaced and that would probably get me into a brand new shiny mess. So I just lie and say I've never smoked. Drunk smoking doesn't count anyway. It's true. Ask anyone.

So, fine. I can fill this out. And in the privacy of my own home! Beautiful. No nosey, judgy women peeking over my shoulder in the waiting room, trying to see if my family has a history of heart disease, or worse, THE CRAZY. But still, even in the privacy of my own home, I was having trouble answering these questions. Like, when was your first period? OK, I didn't mind answering that one. I would have elaborated on my answer if I could have, because I was 12 and it was Mother's Day. Hahaha! Happy Mother's Day, Mom! But some of the other ones? I didn't want to answer nuh-uh no how even though some of it is information I will share with people who didn't even ask. I don't know. I guess I just have a problem filling out a survey in which my vagina plays such a large role.

Maybe the reason they're making people fill out their vajayjay history online is so they CAN'T write their own answers. Because if I had been allowed to? It would have looked like this:

Have you ever used a contraceptive method?
NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Birth Control Pills?
You should know, you gave them to me and also NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Condoms?
NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Contraceptive foam?
I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS

Rhythm/withdrawal?
Hahahaha!

Vasectomy?
I don't have a penis, as you will soon find out

Are you married?
What's THAT supposed to mean? Are you calling me a slut?

Have you ever been married?
Oh, what? So now I'm a failed slut?

Are you in a relationship?
WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE oh and also NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Have you ever had an STD?
Not unless you count The Clap. Haha, JK!

How old were you when you first had sexual intercourse?
NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

How many partners have you had within the last 12 months?
97, haha JK NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Any new partners in the last 12 months?
97, haha JK NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Is your partner preference male or female?
Depends on how much tequila I've had haha JK NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, OK, male

Do you take steps to prevent sexually transmitted disease?
What, like praying?

Do you have any special needs that we should be aware of?
see above

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

If you guys think I blabber a lot of nonsense on my blog, you should just be glad you don't live with me. I tell the Internets a lot of crazy, but Heidi has to listen to it ALL THE TIME. She knows the grossest thing I have ever done. That is not a link to the grossest thing I have ever done because I am NEVER WRITING ABOUT THAT (on here anyway) but it is a link to when I told Heidi the grossest thing I've ever done and she didn't blink an eye. She also has to hear about me worry about the fate of NOT ONLY Harry Potter, but Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood and LUPIN AND TONKS and she has NO IDEA who any of these people are.

If you lived with me, Internets, you would have had to listen to me ramble on and on about the following:

• Last night, I watched My Super Ex-Girlfriend and when Heidi came home from working late, she had to listen to me bitch about how you just KNOW that movie was written by a man because Uma Thurman goes crazy on Luke Wilson for NO REASON other than he breaks up with her, because women are nutso and become unhinged even when the guy is completely nice about it and ALSO how the misogynistic subtext made me want to hurl because Eddie Izzard was trying to strip Uma of all her superpowers and really I thought the entire movie was just an excuse to have two hot women have a superpower catfight over some schlub like Luke Wilson. And I LIKE Luke Wilson but COME ON.
• One of our employees has a child named Destiny, and I told Heidi it's going to be awesome when Destiny has a kid so someone can be all, "Who is that kid? Oh, that's Destiny's child."
• One night I was talking about how I would rather gouge out my eyes than do something (go to the gym?) and went on to explain that I would do so by taking a spoon and inserting it into my eye socket and then POP goes my eyeball.
• I told you guys about how I think Hey There Delilah is stalking me, but Heidi is the one who has to hear me rant about it every time I hear the song on the radio.
• I got something from my OB/GYN the other day saying I have to fill out my health history online before my appointment. I thought about doing it at work but then I realized that the IT department has access to everything we do on our computers and I'm just not sure I'm comfortable with any of them knowing that much about my lady parts.
• Last night at the gym, the movie in the Cardio Cinema was Forrest Gump which . . . awesome, I love that movie. And it took me a long time to love that movie because my name is Jennie and I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard "me and Jenny was like peas and carrots," because I would be RICH. Anyway, when we got home I made a point to tell Heidi I really like movies about mentally handicapped people. Rainman, Forrest Gump, and What's Eating Gilbert Grape are all in my top 10 favorite movies. OK, maybe top 20. Whatever.

See, aren't you glad you don't have to listen to any of that? I mean, you can stop reading it at any time, but until Heidi tears her ears off, she's stuck with it. And unlike eyeballs, I don't know of a quick and efficient way to remove ears.

I fought the law and the law won

I hope the title of this post did not confuse you. I'd hate to think you came into this post wondering if I (finally) got arrested or ran over a cop (or a bunch of soldiers, although I HAVE almost done both . . . key word: almost). I didn't get arrested or run over anyone. Sorry. You wanna hear something weird, though? Why am I asking you that? Of course you want to hear something weird! This morning I woke up half an hour before my alarm was set to go off. I hate that. I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns. And then I couldn't go back to sleep, but rather than get out of bed and maybe be early to work for once in my life, I just flopped around trying to sleep for thirty more beautiful minutes. INSTEAD of falling to sleep, however? I got this song stuck in my head. But not the whole song because I don't KNOW the whole song and probably haven't heard it in 57 years. It was more like "I fought the law and the law won . . . I fought the law and the law won . . . I fought the law and the law won" over and over until finally I just started singing it out loud. Why fight it?

Here is the weird part. Are you ready? My alarm went off, I rolled out of bed and walked over to turn on my radio. Because I like to listen to music when I get ready. Loud music. Right, Heidi? Right. Anyway, what song do I hear screaming out of my radio? "I FOUGHT THE LAW AND THE LAW WON," and I was all, "where have I heard that song recently?" and then I was like, "oh yeah, in my head . . . wtf?" It was a very weird start to the morning. I actually pinched myself to make sure I was really awake.

So, apparently I'm psychic. If only my powers could be utilized for something more useful than predicting a song on the radio.

Speaking of songs. I was listening to that new Fergie song on the way to work (don't you judge me). You know the one I mean? The "Big Girls Don't Cry" one? OK, so we call my friend Mary's roommate "Big Girl" even though he is neither big nor a girl. Discuss. Anyway, I'm listening to the song and the phrase "Big Girl" makes me laugh anyway because of Mary's roommate and Fergie got to the line "It's time to be a big girl nooooooow!" and I completely lost it. I was in my car, all alone, laughing so hard I was crying. I don't know what the people in the cars around me were thinking. I don't really care. However, I think it might be time to start sleeping. Weird things are going on in my brain and I'm blaming the insomnia. WHAT, IT TOTALLY DESERVES IT!