articles written today: ZERO!

Internets, this is Mocha:



She is a dog (sort of) and belongs primarily to my aunt. While I've been here, she's spent the majority of her time playing with her balls (heh) and licking my feet. Licking. My. Feet. Gross. I really, really wish she would stop.

She's starting to grow on me, even though she's all cracked out most of the time. For instance, last night I got into bed and she crawled under the sheets and curled up right next to me. It was so adorable that my heart almost exploded. It didn't, though. In case you were worried.

you shook me all night long*

So apparently there was an earthquake this morning? I got to work and someone was all, "did you feel the earthquake?" and I said, " . . . huh?" I'm not so eloquent first thing in the morning, you see. But I guess around 5:30 this morning, while I was sleeping, the earth moved. I still find it hard to believe, because I'm a really light sleeper (seriously, I will wake up if you even think about looking at me), and I felt nothing. It's all anyone will talk about today, which makes sense because, I don't know if you know this**, but we don't really get that many earthquakes in Ohio. I think they suspected we might get one when I was in like 3rd grade, because I vaguely remember having earthquake drills where we got to hide under our desk. They were either earthquake drills or bomb drills, I don't know. This was during the war in Iraq (you know, the first one), so it really could have been either.

Last night, when I got home from work, the spirit of Monica Geller inhabited my body and I raced around the apartment, cleaning like a madwoman. I don't know why, but don't worry. This burst of productivity only lasted until Heidi got home and we decided to get Papa Murphy's for dinner. Then we watched A LOT of TV. Like . . . a lot. And drank wine. But not a lot of wine. A normal amount. Wow, Jennie, good story. Um. How about a Conversation With My Roommate? A short one, though, because I'm sleepy.

Me: TiVo, PAUSED. I have to pee.
Heidi: OK. Do you want more wine?
Me: Do you have to ask?
Heidi: True.
Me: That's like asking a woodpecker if he wants to peck some more wood.
Heidi: Nice.
Me: Thanks.

*lame
**but I'm KIND OF a big deal

sing out loud, sing out strong

Back in June, when Erica and were driving to Chicago, she commented that she never really sees people singing in their cars. I thought, "Surely she is mistaken! People always sing in cars!" but then I started paying attention to the other cars around me. This is probably something I should have already been doing while driving, but better late than never, right? Right.

Anyway, so here is what I learned:

1. People really don't like it when you stare at them
2. They are (most of the time) not singing

I don't understand this. I am ALWAYS singing in my car. I don't see the point of having a radio/CD player in your car if it's not there to help you sing. I cannot tell you how many times I've humiliated myself by belting out Journey or Kelly Clarkson or Boyz II Men (oh yes) and then realized my windows were all open and people were staring. But it happens a lot.

Who ARE you people who don't sing in the car? You are completely missing out on that feeling you get when you're driving down the road on a warm, sunny day, and the windows are all down and the wind is blowing through your hair and the perfect song comes on the radio and you think, "this is it . . . if my life were a movie, this song would be on the soundtrack." How can you not sing along?

when a problem comes along, you must whip it

Two truths and a lie:

1. I came home for lunch today. I pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car, and used the automatic key fob thingie to lock the car doors. Then I tried to use the same automatic key fob thingie to unlock the door to the apartment. I hit the button several times before I realized that our front door is not automatic. YET.
2. I accidentally bought unsalted pretzels at the grocery store, proving once again that I should not be trusted with something as important as the food shopping. DON'T WORRY, though. I am dipping them in mustard and they are still delicious.
3. It is very, very hot today and is only going to get hotter and so I just called into work and told them I can't come back in because I'm sick. Also, my car won't start. Also, I have been kidnapped by pirates. Also, I was attacked by a wild goose and have to go to the hospital to get my pecking wounds fixed.

OK, that last one was a lie. Although, I did consider it, so it's a half-truth, right?

I've sued my manager for sexual harassment. And it's real hard and a big strain on me. Because he hasn't done anything.

Every Sunday night, I put off going to bed until . . . well, early Monday morning. And I think I've figured out why. Because, see, if I go to bed, that means the weekend is officially over and when I wake up it's going to be Monday and I'll have to get up early and go to work. So instead I stay up late reading or watching Adult Swim or peeing every five minutes because I drank too much water/Coke/wine before I tried to go to bed.

ALSO. I just watched The MTV Movie Awards because Sarah Silverman was hosting it and if I was going to go gay for anyone, it would totally be her. Anyway, here are my thoughts that I remember because most of them were gone like five seconds after I thought them:

• Sarah Silverman made fun of how Paris Hilton is going to jail AND how she is a giant slut and Paris Hilton was SITTING RIGHT THERE IN THE AUDIENCE. It was totally hilarious until stupid fratboy Dane Cook tried to poach her joke. STUPID DANE COOK I HATE YOU.
• Robin Williams tries too hard. I wish he had shut up and let John Krasinski talk. Also. Mandy Moore is HUGE. As in tall. Not fat. Obviously.
• They cut to this one girl in the audience a couple times and I kept thinking, "how do I know that girl?" and then I realized it was Audrina from The Hills. I recognized Audrina from The Hills. Kill me.
• Why was Johnny Depp dressed like it was 1993 and his name was Kurt Cobain?
• Cameron Diaz . . . put your vagina away.
• Dude, how shitfaced was Jack Nicholson? I mean, I know that's the whole point of inviting Jack Nicholson to an awards show, but DAMN.

Um, that's it. Other stuff happened. I think. I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention because I got Phoebe high on catnip and that was more entertaining than most of the celebrities. For serious.

For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?

You know what I do that grosses even ME out? I crack my back. And my neck. And my wrists and ankles and knuckles. When I say it grosses me out, I mean it makes me think, "OH MY GOD the human body should never, ever make that noise." It doesn't make me want to vomit or anything, but I can't vouch for the people around me who hear all the cracking of my bones. Sometimes after I crack my back, I'm surprised to find I have not paralyzed myself. True story.

Last night, I made myself go to the gym. I really did have to make myself. There I was, slouched on the couch watching my fourth episode of Friends, twirling my hair, with my mouth hanging open in an oh-so-intelligent fashion, having the following conversation with myself:

"Go to the gym. No. Go. I don't want to! Go. But this is a really funny episode! So go after this episode. But the next one is the one with the nap partners! I don't care. This is unfair. I know. You don't care about me. I DO care about you, that is why I want you to go to the gym. Whatever. JENNIFER LYNN YOU GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS RIGHT NOW AND GO TO THE GYM."

That is essentially exactly the way it happened. Then I did the elliptical for so long that I thought my legs were going to fall off. You know that part in Bridget Jones's Diary (the movie) where she's riding the exercise bike and she falls over when she gets off? That's what I felt like. I didn't fall over, though. Good story, right? Want me to tell it again? Because I can and will.

Wanna hear something weird? Too bad. I have to eat my lunch in the same order every day. Granted, this is only if I'm EATING the same thing every day but I usually do. You may assume from my exciting adventures on this blog that my life is a crazy whirligig of fun, but it's not. It's very boring. That's entirely not true. Interesting stuff happens to me all the time. It's just that I am boring. Usually for lunch I have carrot sticks, a turkey sandwich, pretzels, and a snack pack. And that is the order in which I have to eat it, too. I don't know why. Also, I have to cut my sandwich is unequal halves so I know which one to eat first. Because I like to eat the smaller one first. Again, I don't know why. Oh, and another thing? (God, Jennie, stop talking) When I'm eating pretzels or chips or something, I have to eat the broken ones first. I mean, I don't HAVE to. It's not like if I accidentally eat a non-broken one before all the broken ones are gone I have to throw it all up and start over again. But I PREFER to eat the broken ones first. This is all leading me to believe that I am slowly turning into my father, who has to make his sandwiches in a specific order and if he doesn't he sits there and says, "Oh no, I put the cheese in the wrong place. This sandwich is ruined." True story.

Let's see, what else, since I'm letting all my crazy hang out today. A little while ago I was trying to calculate how much of my life I have devoted to Pride & Prejudice. There's the book, which I've read at least five times. The six-hour miniseries, which I'm going to estimate I've seen at least ten times, probably more but who can keep track of that sort of thing? The new movie I've seen about six times, I think? Also, I have seen Bridget Jones's Diary approximately 87.5 times and since that is BASED on Pride & Prejudice, I think it counts. Better throw the book version on the pile, too, because I've read that, um, a lot of times. Then there's this book, which I've read twice. Then there was that time I devoted quite a few hours to developing my theory that all men can be placed into one of three categories: Mr. Darcys, Mr. Collinses, and Mr. Wickams. I think that should be updated, though, because how could I have left out Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet? Although, you could argue that Mr. Bingley is a Mr. Darcy, at least to Jane, and OH MY GOD here it goes again. Anyway. There's also all that time I've spent TALKING about Pride & Prejudice. Like when Amy and I got really drunk freshman year and there was a fire drill and we had to go sit outside until they let us back in? But the head RA or whatever he was called was standing by the elevator and we were scared we'd get in trouble, so instead of, I don't know, taking the stairs (although that would have been a loooong walk up those 10 flights of stairs), we veered into the bathroom where we spent at least an hour sitting on the counter talking about why Mr. Darcy was the perfect man.

Oh, and we can't forget the blogging about it. Or the writing of papers about it (I can't find a link for that, but I know I wrote at least two papers in college). Or the designing of t-shirts inspired by it. And yet, I can still never remember if it's spelled "Bennet" or "Bennett." I think I need professional help, but it's so expensive. I'm going to stop now. OK, bye!

I am a great interviewee. Why? Because I have something no one else has. My brain. Which I use to my advantage, when advantageous.

You may remember that I mentioned that Heidi and I stayed up until 3 AM the other night playing Nintendo. The original Nintendo. The one with duck hunt and the huge, fake gun that you point at your TV and the dog that laughs at you when you miss? THAT ONE. Well, yesterday, I bugged and bugged and bugged my parents to let me take their Super Nintendo home with me. AND THEY LET ME! Well, they said I could "borrow" it and I'm hoping they mean borrow it like I borrowed Chicago and half of their tupperware collection. Anyway, so that is why our living room looks like this:



And I know right now you're probably thinking, "Oh, Jennie. You do not need these. You have far too many other time wasters in your life. TV. The Internets. All of those movies surrounding the Nintendo Area. Drinking." But I say to you THIS, Internets. I had time to take a picture of our new-old Nintendos and post them online. Obviously I have far too much time on my hands and these games are very necessary.

You know what's weird? When you walk by a mirror and are taken aback because, oh dear god, there's an adult staring back at you! Sometimes I just stare at my reflection and think, "who ARE you?" because I don't remember turning into a grown-up and I don't really care for it. I mean, some parts are OK (alright, MORE than OK) but sometimes I just want to have recess again, you know?

On a completely different note, I had the weirdest dream the other night. I was a contestant on America's Next Top Model (I know, shut up) and I feel comfortable telling you about this because I know I'm not the only one who has dreams about ANTM. For some reason, Heidi Klum was the host instead of Miss Tyra. I don't know why. Maybe Miss Tyra was busy with her talk show or sick or something. NOT IMPORTANT. So anyway, me and the other models traveled to some faraway country to compete in a fashion show against other models. Kind of like in Harry Potter? When they compete for the Goblet of Fire? Wow, I am really nerding out right now, aren't I? OK. So we're all in this huge closet that we'd thrown all of our clothes in and we're getting dressed and I went to ask Heidi Klum if we were supposed to wear our outfits in a certain order. She said, "Yes, of course! The first outfit must consist primarily of pockets!" and I was all excited because I'd packed this hideously ugly dress with pockets ALL OVER it. But when I went into the closet I couldn't find it and I started freaking out and trying on all these other outfits but NONE OF THEM HAD POCKETS OH GOD WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO I WAS GOING TO GET KICKED OFF FOR SURE and that's when I woke up The End.

Well, you know, they only give you three letters, so after A-S-S, it IS a bit of a challenge.

It's been a strange weekend. I'm not complaining, because I would never complain about a weekend that lasts three days. That would be wrong. Although, I really think every weekend should be extended to three days. I should write a letter. I don't know who to send it to, though. Who is in charge of these things?

So, anyway. On Friday some friends came over for a low key night. We thought we'd just have a couple of drinks and hang out, maybe watch a movie. Who knows. Three-fourths of a bottle of vodka later and Steve, Heidi, and I were walking to Waffle House at 3 AM. Because when Heidi tried to call every pizza place in the phone book we discovered that, hey, no one delivers pizza at 3 AM. I would say I'm not proud that I was the one who came up with the idea to walk to Waffle House, but I am. Those waffles were delicious, even though I did fall down twice and step in a big pile of mud in the journey to and from them. It was worth it, is what I'm saying.

Somehow I had the presence of mind when we got back from our waffle journey to set my alarm, because I had to go to the DMV on Saturday. The reason? Um, because that was the day my temporary tags expired and I thought I should probably take care of that so I wouldn't get pulled over and have to trade sexual favors so I wouldn't get a ticket. I really can't afford a ticket, you see. Anyway, so I got up Saturday morning, downed some water and Tylenol, considered and ruled out showering, and then went to the DMV. It wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be except for the part where it cost $50, which is really a rip-off for something that you're lawfully obligated to have. Bastards.

The rest of the day I pretty much spent napping. I think I woke up around 4, worked up the motivation to shower by about 5:30 and Heidi and I were finally ready to join civilization around 7. Nice. What sucks is that Saturday turned out to be the only sunny day this entire weekend and we were too tired (ok, hungover) to enjoy it at the pool.

Which brings me to yesterday. That sounds weird. Anyway. Heidi's family was having a cookout at the lake and I was invited and who am I to pass up free food? I like hot dogs. I like deviled eggs (scratch that, I LOVE deviled eggs). I like potato salad. I like sunshine and lakes and stuff. When we left Dayton it was really sunny and warm and beautiful. As we continued to drive, however, it got darker and darker and eventually the torrential downpour started and I cursed the sun for getting my hopes up. I was wearing a tank top and who was going to darken my pale, pale, ghostly white shoulders now? A storm cloud? I don't THINK so. Rude.

After dinner and everything, Heidi's aunt, uncle, and cousins left but then a while later her grandma called and said her aunt had fallen and broken her leg so we ended up spending a good portion of the night in the ER. Heidi's 9 and 13 year old cousins sat quietly and behaved themselves the whole time while Heidi and I did the following:

• wandered the hospital pretending to be Meredith Grey and Christina Yang . . . I'll let you decide who was who


• stole a wheelchair and Heidi pushed me around the hospital


• went outside with said wheelchair and got locked out of the hospital


• tried to find the baby section of the hospital so we could look at new-babies, even though I said I'd rather look at puppies


• found a secret window into the ER and spied


• oh, and I took a picture with my phone of the orange-jumpsuited, handcuffed prisoner that came walking into the ER about twenty minutes after we did

See:

You didn't believe at first, did you? THAT is why I took a picture, you disbelievers! NEVER DOUBT ME AGAIN!

Once her aunt was released, we drove home and tried to go to Kroger to buy some beer because when you spend the night in the ER, all you really want is a drink. Unfortunately, it was ten minutes after 1 and apparently you can't buy beer after 1. So, instead we went home and ate chips and salsa and played the old-school Nintendo Heidi had stolen from her brother until 3 AM. Duck hunt! Mario Brothers! Which I suck at! But I don't care! I told Heidi that one day I'm just going to stay home from work and practice so I can be as good at Mario Brothers as she is. It'll be just like that episode of Friends where Chandler sucks at Ms. Pacman until he plays all day and puts dirty words in the high scores thingie and also gets THE CLAW. You know the one I mean. Don't pretend you don't.

Anyway. I hope you all had a good weekend. I have to go shower now. We're going to dinner at The House of My Parents tonight. You can get beer there whenever you want, even if it's after 1, and that is why Kroger should strive to be like my parents.

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!

you're so cute when you're slurring your speech, but they're closing the bar and they want us to leave

You guys, today was such a weird day. It's Monday, I didn't get enough sleep last night (SHOCKER), my hair looks like crap, I have a giant pimple under my lip that makes me look like I have herpes (I don't), and did I mention it's Monday? Well, it is. All day. Hahahahaha! I'll be here all week. Tip your waitresses. And waiters. I don't want to be sexist.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right. So see that list above that is all bad? Well, inexplicably, I was in a spectacular mood today. Maybe it's because the sun is out and it's really warm, but I think it has more to do with the fact that there is a three day weekend coming up. THREE. DAY. WEEKEND. I love those ever so much.

Today, I inadvertently wore the same color underwear as my shirt. Fuchsia. Fuchsia is my favorite color. To say. I'm not sure it's my favorite color ever, but I do like it. Which is a big step, considering there was a time I REFUSED to wear pink. I don't remember why, but I'm sure there was a reason. Probably something stupid like I didn't want to submit to the subjugation of the female color prototype. Did any of that mean anything? Probably not. Oh well. So, my underwear and my shirt matched today. It wasn't on purpose, I swear. And really, it's irrelevant anyway because it's not like I go around showing my underwear to people at work. Or people, in general, really. Only on special occasions.

OH! And Heidi seems to think I can't give up TV. She left this comment: The day you give up TV is the day you give up the internet . . . NEVER GONNNA HAPPEN!! Also, I would like to sound more intelligent in your "CWR" segment . . . I always sound like Kimmy Gibbler's boyfriend Wayne that just said "whatever" . . . SO. NOT. COOL.

And I decided to save the fact that she remembers Kimmy Gibbler's boyfriend's name for another time and sent her this e-mail, which launched Conversations With My Roommate blah blah blah:

To: Heidi
From: Me
Subject: Hey!

I could SO give up TV! Not the internet, though. Never never no way.

To: Me
From: Heidi

I'm appalled at the fact that you could easily throw away Jon Stewart, Christina Yang (she needs you right now), Miss Tyra, etc.

Very hurtful!

To: Heidi
From: Me

Well, I'm not saying I'd do it forever. But over the summer? Piece of cake.

To: Me
From: Heidi

What about Big Brother? Beauty and the Geek?

To: Heidi
From: Me

Eh. I could live without those. Hee.

To: Me
From: Heidi

I don't even know you anymore.

To: Heidi
From: Me

I have seen what life is like without television . . . and it's GLOOOOORIOUS.

To: Me
From: Heidi

No it's not . . . it's dark and scary . . . with zombies.

To: Heidi
From: Me

Don't you say that! Don't you ever say that!

I think you get the point. Well, to prove her wrong, I am going to go without television for A WHOLE DAY! So far today I haven't watched any TV and I won't watch any UNTIL TOMORROW! Did I just blow your mind? Did it hurt? I'm sorry.

I keep trying to listen to music on my computer, but every time I try to listen to music and do something else (like blog or stalk people on Myspace), my computer is all "OH HELL TO THE NO!" and just turns off. I've had this problem before and reinstalling Windows worked but I don't really feel like doing that because I'm lazy and really just the act of sitting here and typing is enough work already. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

Ahem. Since I can't listen to the music on my computer without having to restart it every 6.9 minutes and since I left all my CDs at work (STUPID), I'm listening to my mp3 player. I was a little apprehensive at first, because I find it difficult to listen to music I really like and not sing along, loudly and with hand gestures and I wasn't sure I wanted my neighbors hearing all the "singing" and thinking I was drunk already at 5:30 or whatever the hell time it is and they might judge me VERY VERY HARSHLY and I'm not sure why I care except I'd like to stay on their good side because, while I don't really care what they think of me, I don't want them telling on me in case they see me doing things like this. And I KNOW they can hear me because our windows are all open and if I can hear THEM when they're outside then if they are OUTSIDE they can hear ME inside. Did that make any sense? I don't care. I also don't care that my neighbors are going to hear me completely butcher this song. Because I love it and and have always loved it and will always love it MORE THAN THREE DAY WEEKENDS OR EVEN THE INTERNET EVEN and if you sing a song with love it doesn't matter how bad you sound. True story.

My fellow nerds and I will retire to the nerdery with our calculators.

Earlier this morning, Heidi threatened to punch me in the babymaker because I told her I was declaring it WORST. DAY. EVER. Week again and she said she couldn't deal with me being mopey and "woe is me." But I'm mostly just declaring it WORST. DAY. EVER. Week because my uterus is starting a revolution and I'm pretty sure the ovaries and fallopian tubes are thinking about joining, so I really hope Heidi does NOT punch me in the babymaker because my babymaker? Already hurts.

Anyway, not the point. Today I am here to tell you all about Nashville because I'll bet y'all (I learned that there) are just DYING to know. When Nancy and I left on Friday, it was a beautiful spring day that quickly turned rainy and shitty as we drove south. But the fact that we gained an hour made up for it. I love gaining hours! More time to waste! Whahoo! Everyone else was picking people up at the airport when Nancy and I got to the hotel, so we changed and displayed the penis cake in the best light possible.

Oh my god, this is so boring, I cannot continue. Just . . . here is a list of stuff that happened and stuff that was said. Please remember that you are hearing the stuff that was said completely out of context. Not that it would have made a whole lot more sense in context, but whatever.

• Bridal shower - no games (!!!), delicious food, I accidentally drank half of a bottle of wine (oops)
• Back to the hotel to change and then shopping, although I didn't buy anything
• At the shoe store, Mary, Katie, and I took pictures of ourselves wearing HIDEOUS HIDEOUS CROCS
• "Help me follow her! It's hard when you only have one eye!"
• We brought the sexy back every time we got in the car . . . sometimes twice
• "Have I mentioned I love Justin Timberlake?"
• Dinner at the Bound'ry. SO GOOD. Also! They played the entire Amy Winehouse CD while we were there!
• Irish pub - drank cider, listened to the band, played I Never, even though we all already know everything anyway
• I invented the term "sexual repertoire" and no, I will not tell you the conversation that led up to THAT
• "You can't be naked in Ohio without alcohol!"
• "What's the name of that movie? Batman Retires?"
• Mary and I made friends with some German guys. They told us they were from Germany and the first words out of my mouth were, "No, you're not!"
• I slept in a chair because all the beds were taken. My neck still hurts.
• The next day at lunch, Mary and I were oversharing until Nancy told us to stop because she kept hearing bits and pieces of our conversation and she was trying to eat.

OK, and this was the best part and gets more than a bullet because it is SO paragraph-worthy. On the way home, Nancy and I stopped . . . at DINOSAUR WORLD.

We had seen it on our way to Nashville on Friday and vowed to stop on our way back to Ohio. I am so glad we did. You guys! There were dinosaurs everywhere! Not real ones, unfortunately, but statues. Lots of statues. Even baby dinosaur statues! Of course, I wanted to get my picture taken on top of one of them, but unfortunately there were signs up that said "Please do not sit on the dinosaurs." See:
Well, OK, you can't really see it but that's what it said. Luckily, there was a playground, so I could do this:ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!

Alright. I'm gonna go now. Nerd, out.

It was never my intention to ruin a life. But you know what? Sometimes, you just gots to get your freak on.

So, I was going to write this elaborate post that made sense, but I don't feel like it so making sense will have to just wait for another day. Last night, although I did manage to catch The Office (Pam is my new hero . . . she joins Kermit the Frog and Johnny Cash . . . I'm totally kidding . . . I love Johnny Cash, but he's not my hero) . . . what was I talking about? Oh, TV. Right. Oh my gosh, so did anyone watch Lost? Is Locke going to die?! I'm thinking no, but you never can tell. And who knew Ben was so batshit crazy? I mean, we knew he was a tiny bit crazy but he is totally and completely pitch-a-tent-on-the-front-lawn-stalk-you-and-boil-bunnies-in-your-kitchen crazy. And that's really crazy.

Anyway, I skipped Grey's Anatomy so I could pack for Nashville. I know that sounds extreme, but you have no idea how long it takes me to pack. First, I pulled out every possible article of clothing I might want to wear this weekend and threw it all on my bed. Then Heidi and I went for a walk. When I came back into my room, I was disappointed to find that my clothes had not magically folded themselves and placed them neatly in the suitcase. Not. Cool. So, I had a mini-fashion show (Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show in my room! is the song I sang) to figure out what I wanted to pack. The purpose of the fashion show was to ensure that I did not just throw a bunch of random clothes into my suitcase in the hopes that some of them would make outfits once I got down to Nashville, but even after trying everything on that's pretty much what I ended up doing. I suck at packing. I suck at fashion, too. I have a friend (not a very nice one, apparently) who told me she wanted to nominate me for What Not To Wear. At first I was offended, but then I remembered that you get like $5000 to go shopping. Also, I'd get to meet Stacy and Clinton. I love Stacy and Clinton! OK, I'm still a tiny bit offended but I prefer to think she's not nominating me because I dress like a complete and total slob, but because I'm way more likely to throw on a pair of jeans, some Threadless, and flip-flops than to mess around with trying to put together an "outfit." Clothes are stupid. Well, not all clothes. I do enjoy t-shirts. And pajamas. Also, shoes of any kind.

I managed to fit everything (including shoes!) into one bag. OK, that's a lie, I have one big bag and one very, very, tiny, practically-not-even-there bag. I hope I didn't forget anything. The last time I went on a trip, I forgot my toothbrush. Did you know that you can buy a toothbrush at most gas stations? Well, you can.

So, I just saw this shirt and for some reason it makes me giggle every time I look at it. Hee. Sometimes I wish I could buy all of those shirts and just wear a different one every day. Even to work. Until I got fired, which probably wouldn't take long if I wore this one (but come on . . . hee!)

I'm working ("working") through lunch today so I can leave early and I think I'm the only one in the office right now. It's a bit creepy. I always worry at times like this that the world is going to end and no one will come tell me. And I won't know until no one comes back from lunch and it'll be like 3 o'clock and I'll be all, "where is everyone?" and then I'll worry that, hey, maybe the world really did end or WORSE everyone turned into zombies and I'm pretty sure there isn't anything I can use as a weapon in this office. So, until that happens, I guess I'll just sit here with The Shins and The Internets and worry about zombies later.

Conversations Extravaganza; or, Why My Mother is Grosser Than Yours

Last night, I went over to Nancy's to make a penis cake. It wasn't very hard (heh) because all we had to do was mix up all the ingredients and pour it in the mold, but I felt confident that if anyone could mess up cake from a box, I could. I didn't, though. So there. On the way home, I talked to my mom and NOW I BRING YOU a Conversation with My Mother:

Me: Hi, Mom.
Mom: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: Driving.
Mom: Oh, where are you going?
Me: I was at Nancy's.
Mom: Doing what?
Me: Making a penis cake.
Mom: Okaaaay.
Me: It's for Erin's bachelorette party this weekend.
Mom: Oh, I see. You just made the penis?
Me: Um, yes?
Mom: . . .
Me: Why?
Mom: Oh, no reason, I was just going to say something very crass.
Me: Well, thank you for keeping it to yourself.
Mom: It was going to be something about testicles.
Me: Mom! And anyway, the penis had balls attached.
Mom: Oh, OK.
Me: Also, we made pubic hair.
Mom: OK, Jennie, I didn't need to know that.
Me: It's just coconut shavings and food coloring.
Mom: You could have been like the guys from Jackass and used real pubic hair.
Me: OH MY GOD.

Later, I told Heidi about it and we laughed and laughed because is there anything funnier than moms saying "pubic hair?" I don't think so.

Heidi: I can't believe your mom said that.
Me: I know. Although, now I know where I get it from.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: I always thought it was from my dad, but it turns out it's my mom.
Heidi: Who knew?
Me: Or maybe it's from both of them.
Heidi: That would explain a lot.
Me: Man, I'm screwed.

When I got home from making the penis cake, I changed and put my gym clothes on. I had my mp3 player, membership card, and keys in my hand and then decided I didn't want to go. I took my shoes and socks off and sat down at the computer and then had this crazy mess of thoughts: You should go to the gym. Just go. You're already wearing your gym clothes. JUST GO. But if you go, you won't be home until almost 10 and you might miss some of Lost. Who cares, you're TiVoing it. Yeah, but you still have to fold some laundry and iron. Or you could not wear that shirt you were planning on wearing and you wouldn't have to iron. But you'd still have to fold laundry. Just go. Go. You went to all that trouble of putting a sports bra on, seriously just go. Plus, if you don't go, Heidi is going to come home and ask what you did tonight and all you'll have to tell her is 'made a penis cake and sat around playing on the Internets' and then she'll make fun of you, do you want that? No. Get off your ass and go.

So, I went. And almost immediately regretted it because all the elliptical machines with the TVs attached were taken, so I had to go into the Cardio Cinema and the movie they were playing was Employee of the Month. Starring Dane Cook and Jessica Simpson. I don't know if you know how I feel about them but if I were stuck on a deserted island and had to decide which one to eat for survival or sacrifice to appease the Volcano Gods? I would volunteer to jump into the Volcano myself because I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with either one of them. Luckily, when I went in, it was toward the end of the movie so the credits took up a lot of the time I was in there. But could they have assembled any more annoying people to star in that movie? Dane Cook, Jessica Simpson, Dax Shepard, ANDY DICK, and that guy from Half-Baked who gets throw in jail. You know the one I mean? He was in Sorority Boys, too. Also There's Something About Mary, talking about seven being the key number and chipmunks on a branch. Oh man, why do I know this? I watch too much TV. Also, too many movies. I will HANDS DOWN KICK YOUR ASS at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Anyway. Did I tell you the other night we broke our garbage disposal? Well, I say WE broke it but really it was all Heidi. Hee. Sorry, Heidi. This is the fourth kitchen appliance we have broken (it goes: stove, dishwasher, freezer, garbage disposal, and also my toilet). Heidi said when she called the apartment complex lady to tell her it was broken, the lady asked how we knew and when Heidi told her I had Googled "clogged garbage disposal" and Google said never, ever put celery in the garbage disposal, she laughed and laughed for the rest of the phone call. I don't know why. I thought everyone Googled everything and if you don't believe me I'll Google you RIGHT NOW I swear I will.

Dear Internets,

I don't have much to say today other than on the way back from lunch earlier I totally got my hair caught in the sunroof. I could tell you that it wasn't because I was trying to shut the sunroof while dancing along to the new Maroon 5 song, but I'd be lying.

Love,
Jennie

PS: I am going to my friend Nancy's tonight to help her bake a penis cake. It's for the bachelorette party we're going to in Nashville this weekend, we don't normally just make penis cakes for no reason. However, I WILL be taking pictures.

PPS: I apologize for all the penis/balls references in the past couple of posts. Oh, who am I kidding, no, I don't.

My point is, a penis, when seen in the right context, is the most wonderful sight for a woman. But in the wrong context, it is like a monster movie.

Hello, Internets. How are you? I'm really tired. I had A Weekend. A Good Weekend, don't worry. I'm totally going to do one of those weekend recaps, too, and I'm not going to apologize for it. Because I'm tired, you see. So just shut up and deal with it. Don't be so selfish. Geez.

On Friday, a bunch of us got together at a Mexican restaurant, partly to celebrate Heidi and my birthdays (even though they were last week, we like to stretch out the celebration as much as possible) but mostly for the margaritas. We went to that restaurant where I fell into the men's bathroom, but I don't think anyone who works there remembered me. Whew. Anyway, the restaurant party moved to a bar and then moved back to our apartment and I stayed up until 4 AM KNOWING FULL WELL that I had to be up at 8:30. Apparently turning 25 did not make me any smarter. Good to know.

THE REASON I had to be up early the next morning was because some friends (Nancy, Stephanie, and Nancy's mom) and I were traveling to the far reaches of Findlay, Ohio for a bridal shower. And even though this bridal shower was for one of my best friends, I was not really looking forward to it because, well, I hate showers of the bridal and baby variety. I hate them. I hate them hate them hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate being fake nice to everyone, I hate trying to practically fake an orgasm while the bride-to-be opens a set of dishtowels and I ESPECIALLY hate the stupid games you have to play. Like the one where you have to make a wedding dress out of toilet paper? The last time I had to do that I wanted to throw a tantrum and ball up all the toilet paper and set it on fire. I didn't, but I totally thought about it.

I needn't have worried, though, because this was the best bridal shower ever. First of all, the food was SO GOOD. It was so fancy and pretty and delicious, even though I didn't really know what I was eating. Because, you see, I am not fancy. When I saw the spread my first thought was "where are the cocktail wieners?" Even watching The Opening of the Presents was OK because Whitney has fantastic taste and everything she registered for was so so pretty. I'm thinking of having a fake wedding just so I can get lots of presents. Would anyone be interested in marrying me and divorcing me a year later? You can have half of the presents (maybe). Win win (win)!

Anyway, the main reason this was the best bridal shower ever was because there was a martini bar. Also, wine. And somehow my wine glass never stayed empty! It was amazing. And then, after the shower, we went to Whitney's parents' house to eat pizza and, oh, also drink more. I was thinking about it today, and I think aside from a glass or two of water yesterday, I was drinking some form of alcohol pretty much from 2 PM to 11 PM. I think my liver has given up. FINALLY.

OK, Internets, and now I am going to talk about something very gross and inappropriate. Nancy's mom brought this video with her of some show that was in NYC called Puppetry of the Penis. Basically these two guys bend and stretch their penises into all these different shapes (i.e. wristwatch, hamburger, Loch Ness Monster) in front of an audience. That's it. I'm not sure what their intention was, but if it was to make me never want to see another penis again then they succeeded. I think it was The Windsurfer that did it. Oh man, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

That was pretty much the climax of the evening (so to speak) so we went back to the hotel. Um, The end. I can't think of anything else to tell you. I blame the penises, they broke my brain.

Is there anything sadder than homeless robots at X-mas? Only drowning puppies, and there would have to be a lot of them.

I'm just wondering . . . is it completely obvious that I have absolutely no idea what the hell I'm doing most of the time? Usually I'm pretty oblivious to it but lately it's all I can think about. Bleh.

Anyway, remember when I was catsitting? When my aunt and uncle came back, they brought Heidi and I some sweet windchimes for our balcony. See:

They're CATS! Get it? Cause we were CATsitting? Laugh, you bastards. Anyway, so we hung them up (obviously, see the picture?) and they are SO LOUD. It's awesome because the fuckers who live below us slam their damn door ALL THE TIME. Payback's a bitch. Mwaahaahaaa!

Speaking of gifts, last night Heidi went all Monica Geller and was cleaning and going through all her clothes. She has more clothes than anyone I know. It's awesome because she gave me some capri pants that she was going to get rid of but earlier that day I was complaining about how I didn't have any capris and I didn't want to buy any blah blah no money etc. Anyway so I tried on this one pair and they came down to my ankles and just looked like high-waters. You know, it's really a shame that I'm a freaking munchkin.

they tried to make me go to rehab, I said no no no*

So, I didn't do much this weekend but it was SO MUCH BETTER than last weekend because it didn't involve vomit of any kind. Which is always good. I have nothing interesting to say. Just thought I'd warn you now.

I had a very wholesome weekend, until last night when I was GOING to go to bed but got sucked into the evils of Gmail chatting and let's just say things escalated quickly and suddenly it was 3 AM and I was still awake. Before that, though, we had homemade pizza, watched movies and then had ROOT BEER FLOATS. When I was younger and my parents and sister made root beer floats, I'd always turn up my nose and declare them DISGUSTING. Turns out I was really wrong because they are delicious. DE-LICIOUS. True story.

I did break a lot of stuff this weekend, though. First, I broke my toilet. I'm not sure how. I was just flushing it and the handle broke. I picked up the lid on the back and looked inside and the little lever that lifts the flushie thingie had broken off. Oops. Apparently I flush very forcefully. Then, I went outside to check the oil in my car (Did I tell you my car is leaking oil? Well, my car is leaking oil. Pretty badly and it would cost more to fix it than the car's worth so basically I'm driving my car until it dies. Which, considering it is hemorrhaging oil, shouldn't be long.) Oh man, where was I? I don't even remember. Oh, so I went out to check the oil and when I tried to start the car afterward it . . . didn't. So then I went back upstairs to the apartment and flopped on my bed with my arm across my face all forlorn and inconsolable and called my dad. Turns out, my car just needed jumped and probably needs a new battery. In any case, my car is not long for this world so I'm going to need a new(ish) one soon. Would anyone like to give me one for free? Like, if you've got a car you're not using that's just sitting around going to waste, I will totally take it off your hands for you. Please? Come ON, don't be so stingy!

Later we had to run by Kroger to return some movies that we'd rented from that little machine at the front of the store. Do you know what I'm talking about? I don't care. I was given the task of returning them (big mistake) and first I tried to shove them in the slot the wrong way and then I think I actually broke the machine but when I went to the customer service desk they told me that they have nothing to do with the machine. THANKS! Then I went back to the machine and it was working again so I guess I only broke it a little bit.

So, yeah. Everything I touch lately breaks somehow. Keep me away from small children and nuclear reactors. Although, probably I shouldn't be allowed around either of those anyway.

*this song has been stuck in my head for the past week

Yeah, and if you were the Pope they'd be all, "straighten your pope hat." And, "put on your good vestments."

I spend a very large quantity of time every day daydreaming. Usually while twirling the same strand of hair with a not-so-bright look on my face. It's becoming a problem. Sometimes the daydreams are so tangible that I feel like I could reach out and grab them or tumble forward and escape the constraints of my (admittedly comfy) desk chair into a more interesting world. And sometimes? I worry that I bypassed daydreaming altogether and fell asleep at my desk and wandered into a real dream.

This morning was the very first morning that I forgot to turn my cell phone ringer off at work. So imagine my surprise when I heard Johnny Cash's voice coming from my purse. I rushed to turn it off and prepared myself in case anyone wandered into my office. "Ring of Fire? I didn't hear any Ring of Fire. Crazy, get out of my office," is what I would have said. Earlier in the morning, when I was getting ready for work, my cell phone made that wonderful little trilling noise it makes when I have a text message. "Oh joy!" I exclaimed (no, I didn't). "A text message this early in the morning! Whoever could be texting me this early? I hope it's something delicious and good! Oh, phone, how I love you!" And forsooth, it was something good. That didn't make any sense, I just wanted to say "forsooth." I noticed the number began with 010 and there were like four million numbers after it, which usually means my friend Kate is text messaging me from AFRICA. That's right, she doesn't have electricity or indoor plumbing, but she has a cell phone. Anyway. I got excited! Because Kate! Was texting me! From AFRICA! Only, it wasn't from Kate, it was from some STRANGER and this is what it said:

Alec, I will be passing thru ekwendeni tmrw morning to pick up the papers. Will u be around? Pls text back.

Weird, right? I was going to answer it but then I realized that text messaging AFRICA might be expensive.

Anyway, so this afternoon I had to go to someone else's office so she could teach me how to do something and she had this space heater on and it was right after lunch and I'm always really sleepy right after lunch but it was even worse today because of the heater and she was also playing Rush Limbaugh on her radio and I kept hearing bits and pieces of his show and it was really hard to concentrate. On account of all the rage, you know? So I crossed my legs in the most uncomfortable position possible so I'd stay awake at least and when she was done talking I stood up and almost fell over because my foot had fallen asleep. At least they're all getting a taste of how I fall down all the time and am really clumsy, because the other day I smacked myself in the head with the file drawer I was opening. Then I went into my office and my new toner had come in. I had to order a new one because my printer was making these big black splotches all over everything I printed and, after he'd spent 25 minutes messing around with my printer, the IT guy told me my toner cartridge was busted. So today I changed it myself because I think it's stupid to call the IT department for stuff I'm perfectly capable of doing myself but then I got toner all over my hands and my desk and probably all over the floor, too, but I'm not sure because the carpet is so dark.

And as I was sitting there surreptitiously wiping toner off of my hands with every tissue I had left in the box, I started thinking I MUST have fallen to sleep. I was dreaming, right? These things don't happen to people. Most people don't almost fall into their coworkers laps, hit themselves in the head with drawers, or channel Johnny Cash from their purse but then I realized that HEY I'm probably not dreaming, I'm just stuck in a cartoon. Which is OK because I like cartoons. If I had to be stuck in a cartoon, I'd prefer to be stuck in Futurama because maybe I'd get to fly a spaceship and that is my dream.

And now that we've come full circle in the most ass-backwards way possible, I'm going to go watch The Office. GOOD TALK!

All morons hate it when you call them a moron.

So, today I was going to come home and right a proper blog entry about that one time I went camping at the Official Bob Evans Farm in . . . I don't know, Someplace, Ohio. But I had this sneaking suspicion that I already had written about it at some point. AND I HAD. A simple blog search for "Bob Evans Farm" took me to this entry. I already wrote about it in the most mediocre fashion possible, so I guess that saves me the trouble of doing it now. But you know what that means? I am officially out of things to write about on here. Out. Unless you guys have some suggestions, I quit. I just quit.

Nah, not really. I will just have to talk of other (read: boring) things. I'm rereading The Catcher in the Rye. I haven't read it in a couple years. I actually had to buy another copy because I can't find the one I used to have, meaning I either sold it (doubtful) or lent it to someone and they never gave it back. I don't care, though. The best part about books is that you can share them with other people. How disgustingly sweet was that last sentence? Oh man, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Anyway, I wasn't going to buy another copy, I was just going to get it from the library (once I paid my fine and they let me have books again), but I just HAPPENED to be at a used bookstore and I picked up a copy and was flipping through it and saw that someone had written this on the inside of the front cover:

Scott - I figure that you could get your dirty fingures into this cats writting. I know you'll dig it. Happy Birthday Boy . . . Matt

I'm not sure if the spelling mistakes are intentional, but I find them hilarious. Come ON, wouldn't you have bought the book for that reason alone? No? Just me then? OK.

Do you remember that movie with Mel Gibson where he plays the crazy guy? This was before we all knew he was ACTUALLY batshit crazy. Conspiracy Theory! That's what it's called. You know in that movie how he HAS to buy a copy of The Catcher in the Rye whenever he's in or near a bookstore? I had a friend in who said I was the same way, only instead of of The Catcher in the Rye, I'd buy Pride & Prejudice. Just because this one time I bought a copy of it even though I already had one. Also, I stole a copy from the library we worked at because it had Colin Firth's face on it. Come ON, wouldn't you? No? Just me then? OK.

Wow. How obvious is it that I really am out of stuff to write about? Le sigh.

the force is strong with that one

The other day, Heidi and I were at Bob Evans (Down on the faaaarm . . . not really, although I HAVE been to the official Bob Evans Farm. Remind me to tell that story sometime.) Anyway. There was a family sitting behind us with a couple kids. I don't know, like 4 or 5. When they got up to leave, the littlest one (maybe 6 years old?) realized he was missing something. Not sure what. But it brought on this conversation:

Little Boy: It doesn't matter, I'll just get more from the bar.
Older Boy: You don't go to the bar any more.
Little Boy: Yeah, I do.
Older Boy: When?
Little Boy: After school.

I think it was really big of Heidi and I to hold our laughter in until the family was out of earshot. You have no idea how hard it was. That's what she said. Sorry.