I’m always thinking one step ahead. Like a carpenter that makes stairs.

I have the day off tomorrow and here are the things I need to do:

go to the grocery
balance my checkbook
go to the gym
get a drug test (for new job, not because I was arrested or anything)
go to the library
fill out paperwork for new job
clean room and bathroom
do laundry (but laundry, I barely know you!)

Just looking at that list exhausts me. EXHAUSTS ME. Here is what I will probably end up doing instead:

sleeping in A LOT
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I haven't gotten around to watching yet
reading
eating thin mints
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I won't delete because I like to watch them over and over
reading some more

I may be able to throw in something like doing laundry or showering or going to the gym. But not everything on the first list. I don't have any plans this weekend (LO-SER) so I need to leave something for Saturday night. Ha! Just kidding. If I'm home Saturday night I'm going to buy a bottle of wine and get drunk by myself, because Heidi will be at her boyfriend's. I. Am SO. PSYCHED.

So last night I went to bed around 11:30 and slept the sleep of the dead until about 2 o'clock when I inexplicably woke up. Maybe not inexplicably. I think it was storming last night and that may have been about the time a giant thunderclap scared Phoebe and she used my stomach as a launching pad off of the bed. OW, CAT. Anyway, so the rest of the night (early morning?) I had the WEIRDEST DREAMS EVER. Like, in the one I remember? This guy and I kept breaking into churches to have sex. Dear Family: I am so sorry I just shared that with both you and the entire Internets. Anyway, I have no idea who this guy was or why we had to break into churches to have sex. I guess that makes me both a giant slut and a giant sinner. Also, this was really elaborate breaking and entering, that sometimes involved climbing trees or removing bars from windows or rappelling from the roof when a church security guard (or Jesus) got too close. I think someone needs to tell Dream!Jennie and Dream!Guy that a hotel room would be a lot more convenient and also probably safer. Except for the coffeemaker. I saw this thing on the news or the Internets (or I made it up and can't remember) that you shouldn't drink coffee out of hotel room coffeemakers because sometimes people use them to make meth. I can't even begin to imagine how you'd make meth in a coffeemaker and also I'm not exactly sure what meth is or does which makes me pretty confident that I'll pass that drug test tomorrow.

Well, let’s hit up Yahoo Maps to find the dopest route. I prefer Mapquest. That's a good one, too. Google maps is the best, true that DOUBLE TRUE.

I was all set to get pissed with Punxsutawney Phil and threaten to kill him and punch him in the babymaker and roast him in our fireplace, but he's getting a slight reprieve because I did not have to risk life and limb by trying to make it into work this morning. That's right, friends, I got a snow day. SNOW. DAY. And while as a tiny child I would have immediately run out into the frigid cold snow to build a snowman or snowangel or some other snownonsense, today I plan on spending the day in my pjs, alternating between napping on the couch watching TiVo and napping in my bed "reading" a book. Funny story (not really), I have seven library books and countless books I have purchased that I have not yet read (although I did finally finish Lolita), said library books are rapidly approaching their due date and I have decided to read Bridget Jones's Diary for the 18th time. I have a problem but at least I am not afraid to admit it.

Last night, Heidi and I got stuck in some strange wormhole at the gym and didn't end up getting home until 10:30. PM! Then we spent a good 30 minutes mapquesting different destinations. It's more fun than it sounds. It's kind of like traveling without having to pack or put shoes on or find a rest stop that doesn't look like a scene out of a horror movie when you have to pee so bad you're afraid your bladder is going to explode out of your stomach (or wherever) and you'll never make it to your destination and if you do you'll have urine and pieces of bladder all over you. I'm sorry for that image. ANYWAY. I should tell you . . . this is the longest, most pointless Conversation With My Roommate in the history of Conversations With My Roommate. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Me: Do you know how far away Knoxville is?
Heidi: Not really. I think it's near Nashville.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: Let's Mapquest it!
Me: OK!
Heidi: 4 hours, 51 minutes, that's not bad.
Me: Let's see how far Nashville is.
Heidi: OK.
Me: 5 hours, 19 minutes.
Heidi: So basically a difference of half an hour.
Me: I thought they were farther away from each other than that.
Heidi: Me too. Ooh, I know, Mapquest how far it is from Nashville to Knoxville.
Me: Oh. 2 hours, 47 minutes.
Heidi: OK, then.
Me: Let's see how far Boston is!
Heidi: OK.
Me: 13 hours, 26 minutes.
Heidi: Damn. What about Atlantic City? I bet it's far.
Me: 9 hours, 52 minutes . . . what about New Orleans?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: 13 hours, 7 minutes.
Heidi: Washington DC?
Me: I've never been there.
Heidi: It's fun.
Me: 7 hours, 57 minutes.
Heidi: How about the North Pole?
Me: I think we might have a little trouble driving there.
Heidi: OK. How about Juneau, Alaska?
Me: HAHAHA.
Heidi: No, seriously.
Me: Why can't Mapquest find it?
Heidi: Because Alaska's state code is AK, not AL.
Me: Oh man. Don't tell anyone I did that.
Heidi: OK.
Me: It's good to know there's not a Juneau, Alabama, though.
Heidi: Truly.
Me: HA! It takes 63 hours!
Heidi: Let's leave now!
Me: It'd be a beautiful drive.
Heidi: We'd get to go through Canada.
Me: Ooh, speaking of Canada . . .
Heidi: Windsor?
Me: Heck yes!
Heidi: Yessssss!
Me: Holy shit, it's only 3 and a half hours!
Heidi: Let's go!
Me: Yeah, you can drink there when you're 19!
Heidi: Um.
Me: And I know I'm well over age 19 but still . . . it's the principle
Heidi: True. Ooh, Mapquest San Juan, Mexico.
Me: OK. Wait, there's no code for Mexico.
Heidi: Try MX.
Me: Um. It only has codes for Canada, not Mexico.
Heidi: Racists.
Me: Wait, isn't San Juan in Puerto Rico?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: I think this is veering into Conversations With My Roommate territory.
Heidi: I think you're right.
Me: Geez.
Heidi: Ooh! Mapquest Honolulu, Hawaii.
Me: Um, once again, I think we might have a problem driving there.
Heidi: Just try it, I wanna see what it says!
Me: OK. It says, "We are having trouble finding a route for your locations. Please try modifying the information you entered."
Heidi: Damn, I was hoping it would say something like, "Please vacate your car and start swimming."
Me: Why don't they just build a bridge from Hawaii to the mainland?
Heidi: Yeah! It would help with their tourism.
Me: And if anyone needs help with tourism, it's Hawaii.

If you made it all the way through that, I hope you learned something. Other than how bad at geography Heidi and I are.

I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints -- the sinners are much more fun

Something about the way my shoes sound on the linoleum in the office breakroom reminds me of being in church. The clack clack clack of the heels takes me back to that time when I wasn't such a heathen, when I went to church every Sunday, sometimes even being given the responsibility of carrying a tall candle to light the other candles on the alter, trying not to trip on my way up the aisle over the long white robe, my eyes shooting upward, not toward Heaven, oh no, but never leaving that flickering flame because if it went out I'd have to travel all the way to the back of the church to relight it, every congregant's eyes on me instead of their hymnal, my face flaming.

I don't know where that came from.

I recently bought some new body wash, not realizing until this morning that it was the same scent I'd used on spring break in college, that year we went camping and every day we'd drive to a different beach. After a long day of lying in the sun and passing out from the heat, and then waking up long enough to dip ourselves in the ocean, we'd come back to the campground, which was littered with senior citizens and their motor homes, our tent being one of a handful scattered across the lot. We'd jump in the pool to wash off the salt and sand that still stubbornly clung to our skin and then ease into the hot tub to take the sting out of our sunburn. Later, we'd visit the only bathroom on site to shower away the chlorine and any rogue pieces of sand. And this morning as I closed my eyes and took in that familiar scent I could almost imagine I was back in Florida and that, just as soon as I was dried off and dressed, I'd be walking that long path back to our site, kicking gravel out of my flip flops as I went, to eat, drink, and be merry (but mostly drink and be merry) and maybe even fit in a little sleep before another exhausting day of beach living.

Yeah, I don't know where that came from, either.