FYI, I started this post in 2006, HOW'S THAT FOR NEVER FINISHING ANYTHING

In elementary school, my favorite gym days were the ones in which I didn't participate. Maybe I was sick. Or I'd hurt myself in some way WHO KNOWS. Whatever it was, and only those with timey-wimey machines can tell us for sure, my mom would write a note saying I was excused from gym class that day.

On those gym-free days, where my mom's signature dismissed me from dodgeball or matball or that game we played where two kids got to terrorize the rest of the class by chasing them around and beating them mercilessly with foam bats, I sat against the gym wall and stared at my sneakers. But on very special days, usually those days when another kid was sickly or injured, we were sent to the gym teacher's office.

I think this was meant to be punishment, but we all thought of it as the ultimate reward. The gym teacher's office was where all the gym equipment was kept, including the giant parachute we got to play with on the last day of gym class every year. This office was deceptively large, almost cave-like, filled with floor mats and hula hoops and those scooty-rolly-cart things and cones and wiffle ball bats and scores of bouncy balls. When I picture Filch's office from Harry Potter, I picture my elementary school gym teacher's cluttered space. Truly, it was her own personal Room of Requirement and on sick days, it was ours, too.

This magical room housed, along with all the necessary gym equipment, one ancient record player and every Beach Boys record ever recorded. I knew about The Beach Boys from Full House, obviously, and also, you know, my parents owned all the albums on cassette or whatever, but there was something special about listening to them on that old record player. The Beach Boys records, I believe, were our teachers way of saying, "sorry you have to clean up all my shit, but at least you can listen to these sweet, sweet beach melodies."

The teacher, before leaving to deal with the rest of our classmates, would give us our assignments, stacking cones or some such nonsense, but instead we'd put on Endless Summer and lie on a stack of floor mats until we heard the teacher coming to check on us. Sometimes we'd get caught and have to go back to gym class. Those were dark times, there is no denying.

This may surprise you, but I did not so much excel at gym class. I mean, sure, I was fine in elementary school. I was one of the faster kids, so although my hand-eye coordination wasn't the best, I could pretty easily dodge most balls (heh) or careen around a matball court with the best of them. You know. If I ever actually made contact with the ball. I mostly just got hit in the face with them AND JUST SHUT UP WITH YOUR DIRTY JOKES RIGHT NOW BECAUSE GROSS I WAS LIKE 10.

I once broke my glasses and got a bloody nose because we were playing soccer and some kid kicked the ball directly into my face. I think he felt bad, but earlier that year I'd broken my own glasses when I fell, face first, off of the monkey bars so, you know, I was used to the embarrassment.

Still, that's nothing compared to the humiliation of high school gym class. The only thing I liked was running, even though it meant I'd be sweaty and disgusting for the rest of the day, because running was not a team sport. But anything else, basketball, softball, even an unfortunate game of football, made my stomach sink. My high school gym teacher didn't have an office full of Beach Boys records, not that I knew of. He was a retired army something or other, prone to screaming fits when we didn't perform to his expectations. He seemed to forget that it was gym class, not boot camp, not even football practice and even if it was, Coach Taylor he was not.

I even had a gym class bully. Nick Mullins. I would sit in the locker room before class, changing into my gym clothes, and wonder what fresh Hell Nick had in store for me that day. Would he throw a basketball at my head, as he'd done the week before? Would he mock me relentlessly every time I struck out at softball, as he'd done EVERY TIME WE PLAYED SOFTBALL? Could I fit in my gym locker, I'd wonder, and hide there until class was over?

I never hid, no, because then I would have gotten in TROUBLE and getting in TROUBLE was not something I did in high school. Instead, I'd go to class, humiliate myself in some brand new way, and risk losing an eye or causing serious injury to someone else. The possibilities were endless, really. So yeah, you could say that I was bad at gym class. It was actually safer for me, my self-esteem, and everyone else if I just stayed in the gym teacher's office and lounged on some floormats, listening to Good Vibrations over and over and daydreaming of a day when no one would care whether or not I shoot a jump shot.

everybody here, comes from somewhere

So you guys know how I wanna quit the gym, right? Well, technically I have quit, but my membership goes through the end of this month so I decided to stop throwing money down the toilet and actually, I don't know, GO TO THE GYM. And on the way there, I had the radio on and OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS, the radio started playing the Ghostbusters song and I was so excited. Probably more excited than is normal. But whatever.

So, I'm singing along because . . . well, I'm pretty sure that if you were born in the 70s or 80s, that song is ingrained into your DNA and therefore you can't help but sing because if you try not to sing your DNA will explode. SCIENCED! But I think this might have been the first time I actually listened to the lyrics and did you know that at the end of the song, he says, "Lemme tell ya something, Bustin' makes me feel good!" Does that not strike anyone else as slightly inappropriate? Who let that one slip through, huh?

Once I recovered from the Bustin'Gate, I went into the gym and got on an elliptical in the Cardio Cinema and was immediately PISSED OFF. One, because it was sofa king hot in there that I almost died for real no joke. Two, the movie they were playing had the subtitles on, but the movie was in English, so basically that meant that the jackoffs who work there were too lazy to turn them off. And three, I couldn't figure out what the movie was. I know this doesn't seem like a big deal, but I pride myself on being able to guess a movie within a couple of minutes. Even if I've never seen it before. Sometimes I can guess the movie before the credits start rolling. I KNOW. That is how good I am. But this movie had Alec Baldwin and Sarah Michelle Gellar in it and I quickly ran all the Sarah Michelle Gellar movies I knew through my head and none of them had Alec Baldwin in them. IMDB, to the rescue! Holy shit, apparently it was some movie called Suburban Girl and now I am ashamed because one of the movie's writers is Melissa Bank. Oh GOD.

In other news, if I could, I would listen to REM's new song (supernatural superserious supercalifragilisticespialadocious) over and over so I'm betting Heidi is really glad I don't have the means to listen to it over and over, unless I resort to taping it off the radio when they play it. Did you guys ever do that? I did. All the time. Wow, good story.

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.

nonsensical: lacking intelligible meaning; foolish; absurd

You guys are going to be so proud of me. I just had this conversation with a coworker:

Coworker: I so don't want what I brought for lunch.
Me: What is it?
CW: A Smart Ones pizza.
Me: Those aren't too bad. But I usually cook them in the oven, not the microwave.
CW: I'm a microwave person. I don't like it when the crust is hard.
Me: Oh, I see.
CW: Yeah, I like it softer.
Me: See, I like it hard.

And I didn't even giggle! Well, until I got back to my desk. And also right now. Heh.

Also this:

Heidi: Hey, so you know how I have that cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory?
Me: Yes?
Heidi: I decided I don't need to eat all of it, so do you want half?
Me: Um, YEAH.
Heidi: Good. If I have to get fat, so do you.
Me: That's so nice.
Heidi: Hey, never say I don't look out for you.

Oh and also this happened last night, in Heidi's car, on the way to the gym:

Heidi: There are geese at the road.
Me: I'll take care of that.
[I roll down my window]
Me: HOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEENNNNNNKKK!
Heidi: Hahahaha!
Me: Oh my god, there's a lady over there by the geese.
Heidi: I know, I saw her!
Me: Why didn't you tell me before I screamed out the window?
Heidi: Because I thought it was funnier this way.
Me: Wow. Way to look out for me!

So our gym is right across the street from the fancy, outdoor mall. Sometimes they play live music there and you can hear it from the gym parking lot. Last night, someone was singing Champagne Supernova. I just keep hoping it wasn't really Oasis playing. Otherwise, I totally blew what may be my ONLY CHANCE to see Oasis live. Instead, I spent that time on the elliptical watching THAT STUPID HILARY DUFF MOVIE AGAIN. WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME?! WHY GOD WHY???

Lest you think me crazy for wondering if Oasis might be playing at The Greene, you should know that just the other week, Mandy Moore put on a free concert there. I mean, I know it's a giant leap from Mandy Moore to Oasis, but stranger things have happened. I'm sorry, that link was all kinds of depressing. I looked at it the other day at work and almost started crying. I might cry right now. Shit. Speaking of crying, we were looking at the movie schedule for the gym this month and next Saturday they're playing Hotel Rwanda. Um. OK. That was a really good movie. Really, really good. But it's not very work-out-y. It's more sit-on-your-couch-with-a-box-of-tissues-and-a-half-empty-bottle-of-wine-and-try-not-to-slit-your-wrists-y.

Anyway, did I tell you that Heidi and I walked up to see Mandy Moore's free concert the other night? It was lamer than I thought it would be and BELIEVE ME I thought it was going to be pretty lame. Oh, it was terrible. We stayed for two songs maybe. We couldn't see her and couldn't really hear her and none of her co-stars were there so we said SCREW IT and went home. The best part was that the route we walked was the same one we took that night we drank all the vodka and walked to Waffle House. Did I tell you we did that? Oh, I did. Anyway, it turns out that path is a lot easier to walk sober and in daylight. Go figure.

Last night, after the gym, Heidi and I drank wine and ate cheesecake while watching Big Brother. And after Big Brother was over, we continued our new project, about which I AM CONFIDENT I have not told you. It was Heidi's idea but I quickly jumped on board because, um, it's awesome. We have started watching Friends from the very beginning and we're not stopping until the last episode. We're about halfway through the first season and we're hoping to be done by 2009. Hey, shut up. It's important to have goals.

shotgun BANG what's up with that thang?

I'm going to talk about the gym now. Because my life is so boring that I have nothing better to talk about. I have a bone to pick with our gym. They keep playing these crappy teenybopper movies and I'm getting SO SICK OF THEM. One night? They were playing A Cinderella Story. Last night? She's the Man. Tonight? I forget the name of it, but it's that movie with Hilary Duff and Big and Heather Locklear and it's actually not that bad, but I don't want to watch it at the gym, you know?

She's the Man just MIGHT be the worst movie I have ever seen. And I didn't even watch all of it. Thank god. I might have died. Because I would have thrown myself under the treadmill. Would that kill you, do you think? Anyway. Amanda Bynes is terrible. Just terrible. Although, if I go in tomorrow and they're playing What a Girl Wants, I'll be OK with it but only because Colin Firth is in it. Mr. Darcy makes everything better. Oh hush, I know he's not Mr. Darcy in that movie, but if I listen to my mp3 player while watching it, I can pretend he is.

So tonight I got on the elliptical and did a bit of warm up, but I thought the resistance on the machine seemed a little weird. Like . . . grindy. I don't know. Most of the machines were empty because, um, they were playing a Hilary Duff movie, so I got on the elliptical next to me. I wasn't on it more than a minute when I noticed it was making this loud, obnoxious squeaking noise with every rotation. I could even hear it over The Fratellis. Yes, I was listening to music while watching the movie. Did you not hear me? Hilary Duff. Enough said. Finally, after I'd had enough squeaking, I got on a third machine. And that one was juuuust right. You know, I always hated Goldilocks when I was a kid. What a whore. I'd be so pissed if some bitch came in and ate all my porridge (I mean, theoretically, because I don't think I even like porridge) AND she broke a bunch of furniture. She broke a chair, right? And one of the beds? Did the bears eat her in the end, because they totally should have.

The word you're looking for is . . . ANYWAY (trademark: Ross Geller). I'm not sure if all this extra gym time is even working. I can't tell a difference. Maybe my insides are totally healthy now. My heart is all buff and showing off for the other organs. And bragging about how many ladies he's gonna score (apparently my heart is a man? That explains a lot) and making my liver feel like shit because of how badly I treat it. Poor liver. You never stood a chance.

You think you're too cool for school, but I've got a newsflash for you, Walter Cronkite . . . you aren't.

A long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away . . . sorry, I can't help it), I used to be smart. Like book smart, I mean. I was in most of the gifted classes. Even math, which I hated with the fire of a thousand suns. I'm not sure what happened to my book smarts, but I think they started to dissipate once it became legal for me to drink. Anyway, even though I was book smart, that doesn't mean I had anything resembling common sense. In fact, whenever I would do something lacking in common sense (like this one time when I spilled an entire pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen floor and tried to mop it up with the rug, which I think I blamed on my sister, or this other time when I stood on the end of a teeter-totter and had my friend push down on the other end because I thought it would make me fly or this other time, OK, I'm stopping) one of my parents would exasperatedly say some variation of, "Jennie! I do not understand how you can be so smart and HAVE NO COMMON SENSE."

I always thought that the older I got, the more common sense would come seeping into my brain. I'm not sure how I thought that would happen. I think you're either born with common sense or you're not and I'm afraid neither of my parents passed any of theirs down to me. Tonight, as I do most nights since I have nothing better to do, I went to the gym. When I got home after the elliptical made me its bitch, I started to gather all my crap from my car to take into the apartment when I realized OH NO I didn't have my gym membership card! I remember placing it on the elliptical before I started and I THOUGHT I'd grabbed it when I was done, but I couldn't really remember because I was trying to get out of the Cardio Cinema before everyone died in The Perfect Storm. That movie's depressing, is what I'm saying. But OBVIOUSLY I hadn't grabbed it because it wasn't in my car. So, instead of, I don't know, checking underneath the passenger seat (where I'd thrown all my other gym crap) I drove all the way back to the gym. I bothered the girl on the elliptical I'd been on and asked if a card was on it. No. I checked the locker room. Nope, not there. I retraced my steps through the parking lot to make sure I hadn't dropped it on my way to the car. No luck. I drove home, wondering if I should call the gym in the morning to see if anyone had found it. Before I went into the apartment, I decided to check my car again to see if my card had fallen on the floor and lo and behold there it was, lying between the passenger seat and the door. I mean, I'm glad I found it and all, but I kind of wish it had really been lost. What kind of moron drives all the way back to the gym instead of checking the entire car in the first place? This moron, that's who.

Also, I am going to prove the universe wrong soon. You think I am off topic, but I will prove you wrong just like the universe so SUCK ON THAT. Um, OK. So you know how we live next to that fancy, outdoor mall? Well, we live next to a fancy, outdoor mall. And Heidi told me that Mandy Moore is going to perform there FOR FREE next month and ALSO they are going to hold a contest and whoever wins get to watch License to Wed (also starring John Krasinski) with Mandy Moore. Whoo freaking hoo. I mean, I don't dislike Mandy Moore, but that is irrelevant. I quite like her, actually, if only for that scene in Saved! where she throws the Bible at someone and shouts, "I am FILLED with Christ's love!" Awesome. MY POINT IS, Heidi and I are planning on winning this contest because I'M SURE Mandy (I can call her Mandy because after we meet she's obviously going to want to be my friend because . . . hello, check it out, I'm awesome) has John Krasinski's cell phone number. And I'll be all, "Mandy, can you give it to me?" and she'll go, "I don't know, Jennie, he might get mad at me for giving out his number to random girls," and I'll say, "But MANDY, you don't understand . . . I just want to talk to him about how awesome I think The Office is," and she'll be like, "Oh, OK, in that case, here it is," and then I will take it and call John Krasinski and tell him I want to have his babies and then we'll get married and live happily ever after in the Italian villa he'll buy next door to George Clooney and I will be smarter than the universe. It's foolproof, really. I have so got this common sense thing covered.

someday you will find me caught beneath the landslide

Oh, you guys. You guys. I don't know if I'm going to make it to next week. I am still not fully recovered from last weekend, what with the marriage and the drinking and the no sleeping and the Taylor Hicks sighting. This weekend is gearing up to be even crazier. There is another wedding (!!!) on Saturday in Chicago and so I took Friday off (!!!) to drive down (up? over? over and up?) early. I'm staying with my friend Mary. You know what happens when I stay with my friend Mary? So. Many. Things. I never know what to expect because somehow we seem to end up in the strangest places, like Lake Michigan at 4 AM. I say this as if we have no control over where we end up, but if you'd ever had a margarita from this place then you'd know that we DON'T.

SIDENOTE: My Favorite Radio Station Ever is playing Ring of Fire (um, AWESOME) right now and I had to get up and do a little jig. I wish you could have seen it. No. No, I don't. AND NOW they are playing Wonderwall (um, here . . . sure, why not). I want to marry this radio station.

Back to the story. MY POINT IS, I'm not sure if I'll make it back from Chicago. I may need someone to come bail me out of jail. Or help me fish my purse out of Lake Michigan. YOU NEVER KNOW. Maybe I'll meet the man of my dreams at Whitney's wedding and run away to Vegas and get married (HAHAHA!) or, more likely, maybe I will get horribly lost again in underground Chicago and it may take me several weeks to unlose myself.

I'm so tired today. Again, I never fully recovered from last weekend's wedding and I really could have used a sleep-in day on Monday BUT NO I had to get up and go to work. And yet, I haven't used the exhaustion-factor as an excuse not to go to the gym. So weird. Here's the thing, I'm actually starting to look forward to going to the gym because it is like free time for my brain. Normally, my brain is busy working out scenarios, holding imaginary conversations with real people, and freaking out about said scenarios and conversations. When I'm on the elliptical/treadmill/etc, however, I am so focused on how much time I have left because I feel like I'm about to fall onto the floor in a heap where I will then curl into the fetal position until my legs are no longer made out of rubber. Or I'm thinking, "Come on, self! You've almost burned 200 calories! If you keep up this pace, you'll burn at least 500 by the end! WHY ARE YOU SLOWING DOWN, YOU LAZY BITCH! I SAID GO FASTER! STOP STARING AT THE TIME LEFT AND WATCH THE MOVIE! I'M NOT GOING TO QUIT YELLING UNTIL YOU DO WHAT I SAY!"

Ahem. Anyway, there have been some pretty good movies lately at the gym. They gave up (I hope) on weepy, sad-sack movies like Stepmom and The Green Mile and are moving toward more action movies. The other night, they were showing Red Eye and I was SO EXCITED because I have crushes on both Cillian Murphy (even when he's evil) AND Rachel McAdams (especially when she's evil). And last night? They were showing Armageddon . . . which, OK, is a flaming pile of crap but it's still entertaining. Also, Ben Affleck! When I walked into the gym last night I had no idea how long I was going to work out. Then I saw that Armageddon was on and figured that could keep me entertained for a while (see above: Ben Affleck) and decided to do the elliptical for an hour. Because apparently my life is so boring and pathetic that I have nothing better to do than work out. Wah wah wah! Let's all have a pity party for Jennie! Poor Jennie! Don't you just want to buy her cookies? Anyway, an hour on the elliptical was probably unnecessary, especially since they had just painted the entire building or something (?) and the paint fumes were making me kind of lightheaded. More than usual, I mean.

Dear Diary,

I've decided to pretend I am writing in a secret diary. No, I'm totally kidding. Do you realize what kind of stuff I would tell a secret diary? Well, think of what I tell you guys. Then times it by 100. I have no idea what that means, but I think it means my secret diary would be a lot like the insides of my brain and no one should have to deal with that but me. I have a hard enough time dealing with the insides of my brain all day every day.

Did you know you can listen to My Favorite Radio Station In The History Of Radio Stations online? Only I can't at work because the entire website is BLOCKED. BLOCKED just like Facebook and Myspace. OR YOUTUBE! I work for a bunch of FASCISTS!

I'm just kidding. Please don't fire me. But can I please please please listen to My Favorite Radio Station In The History Of Radio Stations? Please? I'll do (almost) anything! And admit it, you're getting sick of hearing the same CDs all the time.

Earlier today, I e-mailed Heidi and asked her to say something really mean to me so I would go to the gym tonight. And she did! It's only fair, I mean, I threaten to dump water on her head if she tries to stay home from the gym. It's true. It's happened twice, which is almost a pattern.

So. I haven't gone to the gym yet. I'm wearing my gym clothes. Red shorts! And a t-shirt! That says D.A.R.E. on it. Hahahahaha. D.A.R.E. It stands for don't drink or do drugs or something, only not those words because that doesn't make sense. Sometimes we would have D.A.R.E. programs in elementary school. The best one was at the end of the year, when Kettering cops would come in and hold a concert because they were a ROCK BAND called "The Coppers." Believe me, if you were in 4th grade you would totally think it was cool. Anyway. I fully intend to go to the gym in just a little while. The thing is, I just ate dinner and the last time I went to work out right after dinner I almost threw up all over the entire Cardio Cinema. Which I don't think they would like. BUT. I'll tell you one thing. If I go in there tonight and they are playing another sad movie (last night? Stepmom. STEPMOM! That looks weird. You can't really yell in italics), I am going to throw up just to prove a point and that point is don't show sad movies in the Cardio Cinema or Jennie will throw up on you.

Would you like proof that I am very simple and easily pleased? After dinner, I had a piece of bread with butter and grape jelly on it and I really don't think I could have been happier if you'd placed an entire cheesecake in front of me and told me it was from Jesus and it didn't have any calories. OK, that's a lie. I would have been happier with cheesecake. Also, everybody knows that the calories are the best part, even Jesus.

I figured I'd have, like, time alone with my thoughts. But you know, turns out I don't have as many thoughts as you'd think.

Dear Internets, I am bored. Not that my boredom has led me to do anything productive, oh no. Quite the opposite. I have read a little, played some Nintendo, dicked around on The Internets, and watched half of the first season of How I Met Your Mother. Because I think, I think, it is the only DVD we have in the apartment that I have not already seen five times. I haven't even seen it one times! Well, I've seen some. But not all. Anyway. Not important.

Now, I'm not going to say anything crazy like How I Met Your Mother is better than The Office (because . . . PSHAW . . . seriously), but it is very, very funny. It may be the only comedy in the history of the world that both my father and I find funny, nay, HILARIOUS. I like The Office and Arrested Development. He likes Two and a Half Men and King of Queens. I don't dislike those shows . . . OK, yes I do. I'm just going to say it. I HATE TWO AND A HALF MEN. I hate it when people tell me I'm going to like it, I hate it when they say it's the funniest show on television, I hate it I hate it I hate it! I don't think that kid is funny! I think he sucks! He sucks! He sucks he sucks he sucks!

Wow, who knew I felt so strongly about that show? Even I didn't. Weird.

Now, obviously there are more productive things I could be doing than watching How I Met Your Mother and complaining about shows I hate. There are clean (I think) dishes in the dishwasher, I have laundry to do, my room is a mess, the living room has Nintendo paraphernalia all over it, I need to balance my checkbook, the trash needs taken out, I haven't checked the mail yet, etc. I thought about going to the pool but it's sort of cloudy so instead I just haven't left the apartment all day. Right now I'm sitting here in my gym clothes trying to shame myself into going. This happens every time I have to go to the gym. I know I'll go eventually, but I try to stretch the guilt process as long as possible. Also, I'm drinking a lot of water before I go because I feel it's important to be properly hydrated before almost killing myself on the elliptical. I just hope they're playing a good movie today. When we went on Thursday, they were showing The Green Mile. Now, that's not a bad movie. I think I actually own it (on VHS, OH SNAP!) but that is not a good movie to work out to. It may be one of the most depressing movies ever made which may explain why I was crying like a little bitch on the elliptical. OK, not really. I always cry on the elliptical but that's because the elliptical makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and never, ever get up.

You know what I just remembered? When I worked at the library in high school (nerd alert), I found this book in the children's section called You Make the Angels Cry. I swear. I could not make that up. See! Here it is. Told you. I wish you could see the cover. What the hell, though? Who writes a children's book called You Make the Angels Cry? Well, I mean, I might but that is why no one has asked me to write any books for children. YET.

Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion*

I'm just going to go ahead and apologize if none of this makes sense. But YOU try making sense when you're this tired! I'm trying this new thing where I don't sleep at night. It's not really a new thing, though, cause I do it a lot. You should try it, it's awesome. Until you finally fall to sleep around 3 or 4 and then wake up an hour later and want to die . . . other than that, it's super! Kinda like you're a vampire but without the nuisance of killing someone and drinking their blood. Oh and also you don't have any cool powers like super strength or lightning fast reflexes or the ability to disappear in a poof of ash and smoke if someone stakes you in the heart.

ANYWAY (that was the "anyway" heard around the world) earlier this evening, Heidi and I went to the gym and, for the first time, went to this Pilates class. I'm going to be honest with you, the only reason we wanted to go is because you do it with the lights off. Heh. Which brings me to:

Me: Do you want to do the elliptical after the Pilates class?
Heidi: No?
Me: Yes!
Heidi: OK.
Me: Well, let's see how we feel after the class.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I mean, you're just lying on your back in the dark, how much work can that be?
Heidi: Heh.
Me: Ha! Although normally when you're lying on your back in the dark, it IS a lot of work.
Heidi: I think that went without saying.
Me: Yeah.

Zing! Anyway, yeah, so we didn't end up doing the elliptical after Pilates. I thought after all of our extensive training with Mari Windsor, we'd be fine, but the instructor tried to kill us FOR REALSIES. Oh, and speaking of the instructor? She was the mother of one of the patients at my old office. I am never getting away from that place! Gah!

I think the people in my new office are going to get fed up with my musical choices soon. I got tired of listening to the radio all day, so I took some CDs to work. The problem is, I put on a CD in the morning and then listen to it all day long over and over. Which brings me to:

Me: I think my coworkers are getting annoyed with me.
Heidi: Why?
Me: I listened to The Shins all day on repeat.
Heidi: Oh god! They're not the only ones, then.
Me: What?
Heidi: Every morning when I'm getting ready, I hear music coming from your room and all I can think is "Is she listening to that song AGAIN?"
Me: Heh.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: It's not every morning.
Heidi: Yeah, ok.
Me: Some mornings I listen to Regina Spektor instead!
Heidi: Wow, you've really proven your point there.
Me: Thank you.

And just because I feel like it, another question. Heather Anne asked: What is the most beautiful word you can think of?

According to my sources, (Wikipedia and Donnie Darko*), the most beautiful phrase (I know you said "word," Heather Anne, but I chose to ignore it and read "phrase" instead . . . heh) in the English language is "cellar door." Who am I to argue with both Wikipedia AND movies? Especially a movie* that stars my future husband? HOWEVER, my favorite phrase in all of literature is just this . . . "picnic, lightning." Need more?

My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three.

That's it. That's all there is. I don't know what it is about that sentence. It's so SIMPLE but so damn good that it makes me want to quit writing forever. I mean, I won't, but when I read that sentence it makes me think I should, because I will never be able to string words together that make someone want to read them over and over and wonder, "how'd she do that?"

Kat, I know you sent me that book of short stories to make me start writing some? But right now I'm reading this? And every time I pick it up it makes me want drop everything I'm doing and go write a book. Not enough to, you know, get off my lazy ass and actually start writing, but still . . . baby steps.

*Seriously, have you seen this movie? It's fucking awesome. Go watch it. Now. Go ahead. I'll wait.

And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by

Tonight Heidi had to work late and so I was going to skip the gym. Because Heidi and I are attached at the hip and cannot do anything separately except sleep, shower, go to the bathroom, and go to work. Also, she is the only one who sleeps with her boyfriend and vice versa . . . you know, if I had a boyfriend. ALSO. We have separate families only my parents call her their other daughter and what they REALLY mean is their FAVORITE daughter.

ANYWAY. Usually what happens when we get home from work is we wander around the apartment until one of us says, "what should we have for dinner?" Then we wander around some more, fix dinner, eat it while watching something TiVo'ed and then wander around until one of us says, "so . . . gym?" The past couple of nights we haven't gotten to the gym until 9, which means we don't get home til after 10, which means by the time we stop wandering around the apartment some more, it's almost midnight and then we hate ourselves in the morning. See, cause there are two different Jennies. The first one is NighttimeJennie. She is loads of fun, but not very responsible. She will convince herself that it's OK to stay up really late reading or watching TV or drinking wine even if she knows she has to get up at 6. Then there is MorningJennie. She is a royal bitch. Seriously. Don't talk to her. Every morning, MorningJennie vows to make NighttimeJennie go to bed earlier but by the time nighttime roles around MorningJennie is too tired to care. This is a vicious cycle.

What was my point? WOW. OK. Oh, so tonight Heidi had to work late so I was going to skip the gym. Did I say that already? I'm too lazy to look. But when I got home, instead of immediately putting my pajamas on and plopping in front of the TV (I am WAY behind on my Daily Shows), I put on gym clothes, threw my hair in a ponytail, and went to the gym. WHICH, by the way, is so much busier at 6 than it is at 9. Haha, 69. God. I thought I might have to fight someone for an elliptical but luckily I didn't. Because I would have gotten my ass kicked. Actually, maybe not. I have been working out lately and I'm pretty scrappy. I WILL KICK YOUR ASS!

Did that scare you? No? OK.

This is going to seem random. I'm just warning you. So, on Friday when Heidi, Steve, and I were driving down to Kentucky, we heard a commercial for this study being held at the University of Cincinnati. AND NOW. I BRING YOU. CONVERSATIONS. WITH. MY ROOMMATE. Because it's been a while. I think.

Me: Oh my god, are you listening to this?
Heidi: What?
Me: This commercial.
Heidi: No.
Me: It's for some study?
Heidi: Yeah . . .
Me: For women . . .
Heidi: OK.
Me: Who don't have any sex drive.
Heidi: Um. And?
Me: They're asking for volunteers to participate in the study.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Do you think they pay? To take part in it?
Heidi: Probably.
Me: I wonder how much.
Heidi: No idea.
Me: I could so fake not having a sex drive*.
Heidi: Me too.
Me: I'm tempted to sign up.
Heidi: You should.
Me: Only I'm afraid of what would happen to me if they gave me real drugs.
Heidi: Yeah, that could be dangerous.
Me: Like what if the drugs they gave me REALLY killed my sex drive?
Heidi: It could happen.
Me: I'd hate to have to fake it for real.

I'm not sure if Steve was paying attention to this part of the conversation. Were you, Steve? I hope not, because I think I took liberties with some of what was said. Give me a break, though, this happened LAST FRIDAY and there was a lot of beer in between then and now.

I don't even remember what I wrote up there at the top anymore and I don't care to look. Kay, bye!

*I would like to apologize to my parents right now

You’re a real-life wedding crasher, and I must bounce you. I’m sorry, it gives me no pleasure.

DISCLAIMER: This entry drops the F bomb all over the place. Please protect your virgin ears if you are into that sort of thing. Everyone else, all the F bombs are toward the end. Fuck. Except that one. That's the thing about the F bomb. It drops when you least expect it.

Phoebe gives me really weird looks when I sing, OK yell, Journey lyrics at her. Whatever, CAT, you spent the entire morning staring at the sun reflections on the ceiling! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME. And seriously? Anyone who doesn't like Journey can just get the hell out of my apartment RIGHT NOW. That is a new rule. Everyone must sing a Journey lyric before they enter the apartment. Heidi, I hope you're OK with this. I mean, I spend the majority of my life with a Journey song stuck in my head so I'm just trying to pass along the joy.

So, you know how I was complaining about having to work yesterday? I realize it's difficult to keep track of all the things I complain about, but try and keep up. Right, so, I was complaining about having to go to work but really? On the Saturdays that I have to get up early and go into work, I am so much more productive than I am on normal Saturdays. For instance, yesterday after work I got gas, checked my oil, got a hair cut, dyed my hair, went to the gym, balanced my checkbook, cooked dinner (although "cooked" might be stretching it since I mostly used the microwave), and . . . OK, that's it. But last Saturday? When I didn't have to work? I worked out. That is the only productive thing I did. There was that whole prime rib incident, too, but I'm not sure that counts.

There are these two weight machines at the gym . . . I have no idea what they're really called, but Heidi and I call them the slut machines. Because, see, they both involve spreading your legs as wide as humanly possible. The first night we tried to do them in shorts and I will never, ever do that again because there are some things I do not want strangers to know and that includes the color of my underwear. So now I make sure I do those machines first, while I still have my pants on. LET ME ELABORATE, when I do take my pants off at the gym, I always ALWAYS have shorts on underneath them. I do not walk around the gym pantsless because I think they frown upon that. Anyway, the slut machines are my favorite ones in the whole gym so I'm not sure what that says about me.

Did I tell you that you can watch movies while you work out? Well, you can. There's even a sheet at the desk where you can request movies. Only there's a little note that says "no nudity," so I guess I can't request, I don't know, Wedding Crashers. Who wouldn't like to watch Wedding Crashers while they work out? Sure, it might be dangerous because I could start laughing really hard and slide off the treadmill but that is a risk I'm willing to take. But we can't watch it because there are boobies in it. And if we have learned anything from Janet Jackson, it is that boobies are scary and should remain hidden at all times, especially during sporting events. I don't even remember where I was going with this. Let's pretend that what I'm saying makes sense, though, OK? OK. So, we can't watch movies with boobies or hoohas in it, but apparently profanity and violence are totally fine. Yesterday they were showing Courage Under Fire, which alternated between Denzel Washington in an army uniform (mmm) interviewing hot soldiers in uniform (Matt Damon, for instance) and battle scenes that went something like this:

Soldier 1: Woe is me! They are fucking shooting at us!
Meg Ryan: I would suggest that you fucking shoot back!
Soldier 2: Ma'am, with all fucking due respect, I cannot seem to hit those motherfuckers with this fucking gun.
Meg Ryan: Blow up their fucking tank!
Soldier 1: Ma'am, I do not have any fucking ammo left with which to blow up any fucking tanks. I fear we may all fucking perish.
Meg Ryan: I would be much obliged if you would shut the fuck up and obtain some fucking flares.
Soldier 2: Fucking flares, ma'am?
Meg Ryan: I do believe that is what I fucking said. Fucking flares will be ideal for blowing up their fucking tank and saving our fucking lives.
Soldier 1: Yes, ma'am.
Soldier 2: I don't mean to be a nuisance, but I have just been shot in the fucking jugular.
Soldier 1: Fuck. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck fuck.
Meg Ryan: Fuck.
Me: Bring back Denzel!
Gym Attendant: Ma'am, please don't yell at the screen.
Me: Don't fucking call me ma'am.

Anyway, so my point is I think we should be allowed to watch Wedding Crashers.

I wanna quit the gym!

Earlier this week, Heidi and I joined a gym. Because it's cold outside and half-assedly doing a 20 minute Pilates DVD four times a week just wasn't having the results we were hoping for. Go figure. It's the same gym my dad and uncle go to at 5 in the morning, but I doubt we'll ever run into them. Who works out at 5 AM? Crazy people, that's who. Anyway, so nine months after moving into our apartment, we discovered that residents of our apartment complex get a discount at a nearby gym. A significant discount. The guy who sold us our membership also pretended we were sisters and gave us a family discount. And waived the usual 1.5 million dollar registration fee. It is so cheap, you guys! So cheap! Which is good, because after we pay for cable, the Internets, and our Target addiction, we don't have a lot of money to just throw around all willy-nilly like Donald Trump, who probably not only lights his cigars with hundred dollar bills, but wipes his butt with them and ALSO has a giant room in his house full of monies and goes swimming in ginormous piles of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck.

The whole registration process was a long one, full of tedious paperwork, and the guy helping us (I'll call him Seth . . . because that was his name) told us he used to live on Wittenberg's campus AT THE SAME TIME Heidi and I went there. I asked if he was familiar with McMurray's (aka That Bar We Went To Every Other Night) and he said he used to be a bouncer there. So I'm actually surprised he didn't recognize us. I kind of wanted to be like, "Oh, hey, we were those girls who monopolized the karaoke machine!" or "You know all those missing bar signs from the walls? We took those!" or "Sorry if you ever had to yell at us at 2:30 in the morning because we wouldn't leave the bar" but I didn't say any of those things because he hadn't given us our membership yet and I didn't want to be banned from the gym before I had a chance to try out the Cardio Cinema. That's right, Cardio Cinema. You can watch movies while you work out. And sure, last night the movie was Rocky (I don't know which number as this was the first piece of a Rocky film I have ever seen) but flashy lights and loud noises make the time go faster regardless of what movie is producing them.

And now I bring you . . . Conversations With My Roommate: Gym Edition.

In the car

Me: I hope someone warned the gym we were coming.
Heidi: I know, we're probably going to say something inappropriate.
Me: Yes, LOUDLY inappropriate.
Heidi: Like vas deferens.
Me: Or cervix.
Heidi: Ew.
Me: Some words should not ever be said.
Heidi: I agree.
Me: Like panties.
Heidi: I hate that word.
Me: Also? Moist.
Heidi: Oh, yes! That word is banished!
Me: Also those words should never be put together. Because . . . moist panties? Ew.
Heidi: Oh god.
Me: Seriously, should we have called ahead to warn them we were on our way?

On the way to the locker room

Heidi: So . . . they spelled your name wrong.
Me: I know. Both of them!
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: At what point do you think I should tell them my name is not Jenny Baylar?
Heidi: Um.
Me: Probably before now?
Heidi: Probably.

In the cross-training room

Me: I wish sports wasn't on the TV.
Heidi: Didn't that guy say we could change the channel?
Me: Score!
Heidi: Can you reach it?
Me: YES . . . ok, maybe.
Heidi: What are you putting it on?
Me: Duh, The Office.
Heidi: What is Ben Franklin doing on The Office?
Me: I don't know, but it is all kinds of awesome.

Me [whispering]: Can I tell you something?
Heidi: Yes.
Me: I am uncomfortable with how much working-out-noises sound like sex noises.
Heidi: Haha, me too.
Me: Seriously, do you hear that guy over there?
Heidi: Unfortunately.

ALSO. We were privy to a conversation between two men on the other end of the room and DURING THIS CONVERSATION one of them, after saying that he'd had to change five beds at the hospital that day, said these magical words, "I peed in my bed! I puked in my bed! I pooped in my bed! I peed the bed again!" Have you ever heard anything so beautiful? Also, it's hard not to hurt yourself on a piece of gym equipment when you're laughing not only hysterically but also trying to be quiet about it.