I'm really sorry for this. Really, really sorry.

I was just in the bathroom at work and someone was having some seriously wicked bad twosies.

I know. I KNOW. I haven't blogged here in FOREVER and now I'm back talking about smelly poops? I'M SORRY. But. Would you really expect anything else?

I have nothing against people who poo at work. It happens sometimes. No one likes it but there's no controlling it, unless you're like my friend's brother who, when he was younger, used to hold it so long that he wouldn't be able to uncross his legs for fear of letting it all out. The poop. Letting the poop out. He called it "getting stuck" and my friend, his older sister, would try and push him over and "unstick" him, if you will, to try and make him poop his pants, which is totally an older sibling thing to do if you really think about it. I never did anything like that to my little sister. I did, however, tell her that we found her in a basket on the front porch when she was a baby. And that the basement was haunted. And whenever I babysat her and she was being bad, I'd pretend to call my parents and really call Time & Temperature instead. I'd tell the automated voice all of the bad things she was doing until she started crying and promised to be good.

That would last about five minutes.

Anyway, back to the poop stories. The funniest poop story I have ever heard isn't even my poop story. My friend...um, I'll call her Carrie because I don't know anyone named Carrie, except for Carrie Bradshaw but sometimes I wish I didn't know her, like when she's wearing something particularly crazy or she's letting the puns fly fast and furious.

When Carrie (not Bradshaw) was three, her parents took her to the mall. And when Carrie was three, E.T. was very, very popular, but she, like many children, was absolutely terrified of that poor, little alien.

There she is, little Carrie in her purple overalls (creative license) and bright red, bepigtailed hair, wandering the mall with her parents, not a care in the world.

Until she saw him. E.T. Staring straight at her. Like this. Obviously, she was startled. I mean, this (fake) E.T. was as tall as she was and probably seemed more than a little menacing.

So she did what any terrified three-year-old would do in the face of such danger: she screamed bloody murder and then immediately pooped her pants.

Hmm. That's not really that funny, I guess, if you don't know Carrie. I'm sorry you don't know her, she's awesome. Anyway.

I have no point, really, and no real reason for telling poop stories today, other than I had the stomach flu earlier this week so, you know, I've spent a lot of time recently contemplating The Number Two. YOU'RE WELCOME.

this involves a lot of poop talk so don't say I didn't warn you

I already said I hadn't blogged in forever because of my gastrointestinal issues but really that's no excuse because how much energy does it really take to sit up (barely) with my laptop resting on my legs or the sofa or whatever and type up some nonsense? Not that much energy, really, but I still didn't blog. I was sick on Thursday and Friday but went to work anyway (yes, I'm THAT coworker) because why would I want to waste my sick days at home being sick? Please. Anyway, I want to save as many as possible because at the end of the year we get our sick days paid out and I want money, lots and lots of money.

I did try and be somewhat social on Sunday, and went over to my parents' house because they were having people over for pasta and garlic bread. That's right, pasta and garlic bread. Anyway, that ended up being a total clusterfuck because I spent most of the time in the bathroom (TMI) which led to conversations like this one which, when Joe told me about it later, made me recoil in absolute horror for several reasons:

My sister: Where is Jennie?
Mom: She's in the bathroom. She's not feeling very well.
My sister: Oh, is she pregnant?

Um, no. Thanks, though. This, of course, led to several more fun conversations about my stomach issues and non-pregnancy issues which made my head explode about 14 times because FIRST OF ALL, if I want everyone in the world to know my poop business then I will just tell the Internet like a normal person and ALSO I'm not very good at math (anymore) but I'm pretty sure that bad poops does not equal pregnancy. What made it even worse is that I was on my period at that very moment (OOPS TMI). But whatever, according to my mom, I probably had the swine flu. Have the swine flu. One of those.

Anyway, so that was fun. If by fun, you mean, "OMG OMG GET ME OUT OF HERE PLEASE I WANT TO CRAWL UNDER THE PORCH SO I'M ALONE WHEN I DIE OF NON-PREGNANCY-INDUCED DIARRHEA OH YES I JUST SAID DIARRHEA, INTERNETS, GET OVER IT OK?"

Ahem. Then my cousin was all, "hey, Uncle Jim (who is my dad), would you care if Jennie and Joe moved in together before they were married," which was also fun if you're going by the definition above.

The beginning of my week last week was much better, because I had an awesome night of volunteering on Tuesday, which sounds weird because we go there to talk about dead people but whatever, it was good. There were two little girls in my group and they liked drawing and playing with My Little Ponies, so that's what we did and that is why I have My Little Ponies in my car. Also, one of them was talking about how her boyfriend is really short (yeah, she's 5) and how people call him midget and I was like, "oh, I bet he doesn't like that," and she was all, "no, he doesn't really mind," so then I thought, "well, maybe he really IS a midget," but I didn't say that and then she demonstrated how short he is and I was like, "wow, that is short!" and she was like, "yeah, he's not tall like you are," and I wanted to hug her because I haven't been tall since the sixth grade (that is when I stopped growing) and it was the best day ever, you guys. True story.

UPDATE: wind still blows

Heidi and I are still without power, as is much of Dayton. I came to work this morning and the only department that had power was IT, so I worked down there today. Well. This morning. My boss asked some of us to come in and take care of anything pressing and then we could leave. But then! Wouldn't you know it! The power for the rest of the building came on. Dammit. Although, what am I going to do at home? Sit in the dark by myself and cry? Probably. Also, read. But mostly cry.

Things could be much, much worse. I know I'm being whiny. We have hot water, so at least we can shower. I can go to Joe's to steal his internet or in case there's something really important I need to watch on TV. And my parents, who do not have power either, invited us over tonight to grill steaks so they don't go bad. They also have many, many bottles of wine and, while they won't go bad because of the power outage, we should probably drink them anyway. You know. Just in cases.

It's Friday, I'm in love

Wanna know who I'm in love with? FRIDAY. I want to have Friday's babies and then hire a nanny to take care of Friday's babies so Friday and I can jet off to the Bahamas or Europe or wherever it is rich people go. Because you know Friday's loaded. He has a private jet. And an island. So I guess that's where we'll be going. I suppose the babies and the nanny can come, too. But I think the nanny is trying to steal Friday away from me. That slut. What she doesn't know is that I am not above kicking her in the babymaker SO HARD. True story.

Inexplicably, I am in a SPECTACULAR mood today. Well, I guess it's not inexplicable since it's Friday and all. That's pretty damn explicable. Also, I had a really good dream last night and I've found that not only do bad dreams stick with me all the livelong day, SO DO GOOD DREAMS. I guess that's my brains way of balancing out the crazy. Or something. I don't know what I'm talking about, is it obvious?

Funny story. Apparently I won a free makeover from Mary Kay. I guess I had entered some contest at the gym and I won. I vaguely remember entering it. I tend to enter any contest I come across just for the hell of it because I figure one of these days I'll win a million dollars or a car or something. It's bound to happen. So yeah. Free makeover. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to it. The lady used the words "pamper yourself" a lot and I'm not really sure what that entails.

I think Phoebe has an eating disorder. Whenever I walk into the kitchen, if she's at her bowl eating she immediately runs out of the room. Like she doesn't want anyone to see her eating. Also, sometimes she eats really fast and then vomits all over the floor. I think one day they'll make a Lifetime movie of her life. Kitty Bulimia: The Silent Killer, If By Silent You Mean Except For the Ungodly Retching Noise She Makes When She Vomits.

So. Wedding tomorrow. I still have not gotten the gift. Oops. HOWEVER, I do have my dress and shoes and purse and really isn't it more important that I take care of myself first? Does she want me showing up to her wedding in a garbage bag and Crocs? I don't have Crocs, don't worry. I also don't know what time we're leaving tomorrow, whether we're going to the hotel or the church first, or if I should get dressed before we leave Dayton or wait until we get to Cleveland. Details. Who said being prepared was important? Not me. Things have a way of working themselves out if I just ignore the problem long enough. HAHA. Again, no idea what I'm talking about.

OK, so I may have a tiny problem. I am wearing these really cute Steve Madden heels to the wedding tomorrow and I've worn them before and the left shoe has a tendency to slip off my heel sometimes when I'm walking. Also, there will be alcohol at this wedding. You see how this may be a problem. What can I do to fix this, Internets, besides wearing another pair of shoes? That is not an option. Don't suggest it or I'll yell at you. I'm a good yeller, too.

Also, will someone remind me to pack my camera tonight? Thanks in advance.

Can I tell you a funny story? You will laugh, if you are anything like me. I laughed for like twenty minutes. Hey! Why not make this a Conversation With My Roommate? Why NOT, I ask you? Let's live a little! Life on the edge, that's the stuff. I swear I have not been smoking anything. I SWEAR.

Heidi: So Nick called me at work earlier . . .
Me: He's on vacation with his family, right?
Heidi: Yes. And he told me something really funny.
Me: Oh yeah?
Heidi: Apparently, his little cousin was in the bathroom for a really long time and when they went in there they noticed that he'd pooped on the floor.
Me: HAHAHAHAHA!
Heidi: Wait, there's more.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Heidi: Not only did he poop on the floor, but he covered it with toilet paper.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

I'm not going to lie to you, Internets, I'm still laughing. Also! Look what was on Overheard in New York the next day:

Mom: Are you okay in there, sweetie?
Little girl in stall: I can't button my pants.
Mom: It's alright. Just come on out.
Little girl in stall: And I pooped on the floor.

HAHAHAHAHA!

Dear Self,

Grow up.

Love,
Jennie

I do believe it's true that there are roads left in both of our shoes, if the silence takes you then I hope it takes me too

So, it is beautiful outside. GORGEOUS. See:


Beautiful. Of course, I've been sitting inside in my pajamas all day, but still. I went outside to take the pictures. Well, on the balcony. Which is technically outside. I wore flip flops, so it counts. I thought about taking a walk but then I got distracted and forgot. Anyway, it's much better to just enjoy the view while sitting all lazy and slothlike on the porch. I can't normally look around that much while I'm walking because then I fall down. So I'd miss this:


Well, you know, unless I fell down. Because, really, if you think about it the ground is the most ideal spot for looking at the sky. Except all the geese have come back and so the sidewalk has goose poop ALL OVER it and I don't want to be a prima donna but I'd like to avoid lying in a pile of goose poop if at all possible.

I hope April is going to be a good month. January was good, February was good but cold, March was OK because I started a new job and here are reasons April should be good:

• I turn 25. I will be a quarter of a century old. Which means not only will my car insurance go down but I will either become more mature or will have a quarter life crisis. Hmm.


• It's spring! It's getting warm! Birds and bees are having sex! Not with each other because that would be weird!


• I'm going to a bachelorette party. Which is so much better than a bridal shower, because, as I understand it, you can drink way more at a bachelorette party than at a bridal shower. Except for my bridal shower (scheduled date for my bridal shower: the 15th of Never) . . . there will be booze at my bridal shower. I'm registering at the liquor store.


• But mostly? The reason April will be good? Is because it is Jim Halpert month, at least in our kitchen:

Of course, I could be wrong about all this. Some smart guy once said that April is the cruelest month, but what the hell do smart guys know anyway?

when's it my turn? wouldn't I love, love to explore that shore up above? out of the sea, wish I could be, part of that world

So, according to MSN, today was apparently the most depressing day of 2007. Congratulations on making it through! Yay! The rest of the year is going to HANDS DOWN KICK TODAY'S ASS!

I am a little ashamed to admit this (no, I'm not) but tonight's dinner included conversation topics such as: the nickname of Heidi's boyfriend's roommate's girlfriend which I will never ever in a million years share on any blog my parents read, ALSO stabbing small children with a steak knife, ALSO drowning babies, ALSO pooping in library books, ALSO changing diapers at a booth in a restaurant, and that's all I'm sharing. Because I can't remember the rest. No, I totally can, but again . . . there are some things I am not sharing on a blog my parents read. And all my aunts and uncles. Sorry, rest of you.

After dinner, Heidi and I decided to do pilates. Only, we didn't do the easy pilates we normally do, we did the loooong one. And now I want to die. DIE. One day I'm going to sit down and write down all the dirty things Mari Windsor says. And I'm not even talking about some of the names of the exercises, such as The Corkscrew, Hip Preparation, The Jackknife, The Teaser, and The Open Leg Rocker which, as we were rocking back and forth holding our ankles, caused Heidi to matter-of-factly state, "there are so many things wrong with this picture." And there WERE. There's also this exercise called The Mermaid and you would not believe the strange looks Heidi gave me when I started singing "Part of Their World" because apparently SOMEONE didn't spend their entire childhood watching The Little Mermaid over and over. Anyway, I just hope our apartment complex doesn't employ a dirty, pervy maintenance worker who secretly videotapes all the female residents. Although if he does . . . well, I think I have worse things to worry about than secret videotapes of me doing pilates.

I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!

Today, during my lunch break I decided to go to Target. Oh, Target. The love of my life (besides TiVo). I was going for a very specific purpose and that was a) to buy a Christmas present for my sister, b) to buy deodorant, c) to look at the shoes and talk myself out of buying at least three pairs, and d) to waste time. The wasting time part was the most important, obviously. I was going to just stay at work during my lunch break, but the thought of both arriving at work and leaving work in the dark was far too depressing. I thought I'd use my break to absorb as much sunlight as possible. Which turned out to be, you know, NONE since it was pissing rain all day long. Pissing rain. Is there any combination of words in the English language more beautiful? No? I agree.

Anyway, since I was at Target I thought I might as well look around. I had time to kill. See above: time wasting. I ended up going down the Christmas-crap aisles to see if they had any generic Christmas gifts I could buy for people I don't really like but have to buy gifts for anyway. And then I passed the Christmas cards and even though I'd already told myself I wasn't sending Christmas cards this year because they always end up sitting in a neat little bestamped pile on my desk until like . . . Christmas Eve Eve when I finally get around to dropping them in the mail (my god, I've forgotten where this sentence even started), I bought some cards anyway. Because, you see, I'd forgotten that they have FUNNY Christmas cards. That is, if you think scatological humor is funny. Which I do. See: rest of blog.

So now I have Christmas cards! Yay! I thought I'd better send some so I don't feel like a Grade A Jackass when I get them from people and I didn't send them anything. Oh, and I also saw this somewhere on the Internets, where someone was going to send Christmas cards to whoever e-mailed them with their address, so I'm totally stealing their idea. I'd credit them, but I can't remember where I saw it and also I'm too tired (read: lazy) to look. So, if you want a Christmas card and also enjoy scatological humor then e-mail me and I'll see what I can do.

I just hope you're OK with not getting a card until January.

Of 2008.