lift me up and take me where I stand

Last night, I stopped at my parents house, as I am wont to do because hey . . . they live really close. When I got there, I made fun of my mom for already being in her pajamas (because it was 5:30!) but then I remembered that almost every day I go home from work and immediately put on either workout clothes or pajamas so I stopped poking fun.

Anyway. Conversations With My Family!

Me: Did you know there's a Chipotle at The Greene now?
Mom: No!
Me: Well, there is. On a completely different note . . . did I lend you my copy of Emma?
Mom: Yes, but I haven't read it yet.
Me: Crap.
Mom: Why, do you need it?
Me: No, I bought another copy last night because I thought I'd lost mine.
Mom: Oh, well, thanks for the copy of Emma!
Me: No problem.

And then!

Sister: Jennie, why do you have that blue shirt on under your other shirt.
Me: It's not a shirt, it's a little tank top thing, see? [lifts top shirt] WHOOOOOOO!
Sister: Geez, Jennie
Me: Heh.
Sister: Your boobs are getting bigger.
Me: WOW.
Sister: I mean smaller.
Me: Thanks. Good talk, Sister.

And then!

[phone rings]

Mom: It's your father.
Me: I'll get it. [answers phone] Good evening, how may I direct your call?
Dad: SIIIIIIGH. I'd like to speak to your mother please.
Me: Just a moment.

Then my mom was all, "do you want your birthday present now or do you want it on your birthday?" And I was all, "um, now?" And so she gave it (laptop bag) to me, but it wasn't wrapped, so I looked at it and then gave it back to her and told her to wrap it and give it back to me on my birthday. Perfect. SPEAKING of perfect, then she gave me three bottles of wine.

On a completely unrelated note (seriously), over the weekend Heidi and I watched August Rush, which . . . OK, I knew I was being completely manipulated and ALMOST lapsed into a coma because of how over-the-top SWEET this movie was, but I didn't care because it made my shriveled little heart grow about 50 sizes. Of course, later we watched Gone Baby Gone and my faith in the human race was dashed to bits, but whatever. In any case, Felicity's name in August Rush is Lyla and every time someone said her name, I was all, "HEEEEEEEEEEEY, LYLA!" It's true. Ask Heidi.

that kind of girl

Today marked the beginning of wedding season, as far as I'm concerned, because I went to a bridal shower. And, as everyone knows, the world revolves around ME, so therefore . . . wedding season. End of discussion.

As I was getting ready, I kept thinking, "Jennie, what are you doing? It's noon on Sunday and you've . . . you've showered. And . . . you're putting on mascara. You don't wear mascara on Sundays." True story. I barely make it out of bed on some Sundays and I certainly don't make a special point to put on makeup if all I'm going to be doing is roaming from my bedroom to the living room all day long.

And yet, Nancy is one of my best friends and so there are a lot of things I would do for her, like give her a kidney or break her out of a French prison or, you know, shower and slap on some mascara on a Sunday. Also, I'm a bridesmaid so it's sort of expected that I attend these things. Apparently. I've actually never been a bridesmaid before and this is like the best bridesmaid duty ever because A) our dresses are black, B) we get to pick out our own dresses, and C) it's a destination wedding that no one is attending except the happy couple and her parents AND SO bridesmaid duty includes only bridal shower, bachelorette party and reception, which means I don't have to walk down any aisles and potentially fall down on my face in front of God and Nancy's family. Thank you, Nancy.

I find bridal showers exhausting. The people are always nice, but I'm not good at small talk. Or being on my best behavior, for that matter. This was a good bridal shower, though, on account of of all the wine and ALSO we didn't have to play any of those stupid bridal shower games. I'm not kidding, you guys, I'd rather set myself on fire than make a wedding dress out of toilet paper or PLAY BRIDAL SHOWER GIFT BINGO OH MY GOD JUST KILL ME NOW.

Ahem. But we didn't have to do any of that. We drank wine and ate finger sandwiches and did our bridemaidly duties (oh my god, I keep saying duty hahahahahaha) and as we drove away, I said, "I AM SO HUNGRY." You know, because we'd only eaten finger sandwiches all day and I don't know if you know this, but I'm not really a finger sandwich type of girl. I like my sandwiches to be regular sized and chock full of meat (heh) with a side of potato chips and maybe a pickle. And so, after spending a civilized afternoon drinking wine out of fancy glasses and eating tiny food off of fancy plates, we went to grab steak, potatoes, and beer for dinner at a place where you can throw peanut shells on the floor which, let's face it, is much more my style.

That’s the thing about bear attacks. They come when you least expect it.

Last night I was reminded why I like having a roommate more than living the long lonely life of loneliness. Heidi had a bad day at work, a "one of those day" day, if you will, and so I bought a bottle of wine on the way home because the only way I know how to solve problems (such as a "one of those day" day) is with alcohol. So we drank wine and watched trashy TV. Big Brother (Dick and Danielle . . . HATE), The Hills (Spencer . . . DOUCHE), The Real World (Drunk People . . . LOVE), and My Boys. OK, My Boys does not officially qualify as trashy TV. It's not brilliant TV, but it's not terrible. It's got its moments (also, Jim Gaffigan) and I think the biggest problem with it is that it rushes through storylines waaaaay too quickly. Like, something that on a normal show would last at least three episodes, they blow through in half an hour. ANYWAY, before I get into the following CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE, allow me to explain the show a little. PJ is friends with all these dudes. She writes for the Cubs. And apparently next week she has to choose between three hot men. Jeremy Sisto of Clueless and Six Feet Under fame, who she was all in love with for years and he was in Iraq or Afghanistan or somewhere scary and he came back to Chicago and she was like "oooh, I still luuuurrvve him" in her head only it turned out he's engaged now. Awesome. Then there is That Guy Who Played Ethan Crane on Passions and also Keith on Scrubs. He plays for the Cubs and they went on some dates but apparently it violated her ethics as a sports writer to continue dating him. WHAT. EVER. Then in the last episode she met a hot botanist who talked to her about cicadas and brilliantly pretended to be a smoker to get out of awkward, forced party-interactions and was very cute all around. Um, yeah, so CONVERSATIONS WITH MY ROOMMATE:

Heidi: So if you had to choose between the guy from Clueless, Ethan Crane, or the nerdy cicada guy, who would you choose?
Me: I think . . . the cicada guy.
Heidi: Really?
Me: Yeah, because the guy from Clueless has gotten kind of fat. And he has a beard.
Heidi: Plus, he had a fiance, which means he would have had to break that off.
Me: Right, and Ethan Crane would mess up my job.
Heidi: Well . . . maybe not.
Me: And anyway, he's kind of goofy. The cicada guy is nerdy has dark hair and all the guys I've ever liked have had dark hair.
Heidi: Huh. I just realized something.
Me: What?
Heidi: I've never dated a guy with dark hair.
Me: Weird. But that just proves my theory that we'll never fight over the same guy.
Heidi: Well, I dated a guy with dark hair once.
Me: Oh yeah?
Heidi: But he cheated on me so I figured all guys with dark hair are cheaters.
Me: Well, shit, now you tell me.

Although, I have dark hair. Does that mean I'm a cheater? It hasn't so far, but maybe it only applies if you have a penis. Probably we should rethink this theory and not drink a bottle of wine beforehand.

Then? Then I introduced Heidi to lol cats and we spent the next 20 minutes laughing hysterically and saying things like "i luvs dis cher" over and over until we were laughing so hard neither of us could speak. I mean, tell me you're not jealous of our super exciting lives.

Then? Then I went to bed and had the WEIRDEST dreams I have ever had in my life, including but not limited to going swimming in the ocean and being scared that I was going to be attacked by a new kind of sea-bear that was quickly becoming known as THE MOST DANGEROUS BEAR IN ALL THE LAND and, oh this one is the best, teaching Zach Braff how to ride a bike without training wheels. He was wearing a helmet. It was pink and it had flowers on it. I wish I could say we made out or something, but no. I just taught him how to ride a bike. Not very well, I might add, because he fell down SO MANY TIMES because I wasn't strong enough to hold him up on the bike but OH MY GOD Zach Braff is like . . . A FOOT taller than me and I think it's unrealistic to think I could EVER hold him up on a bike WHILE running alongside it because I AM JUST A WEAK LITTLE GIRL LEAVE ME ALONE.

Why is this so hard? That’s what she said. Oh my god. What am I saying?

I think my early week happy high is wearing off. I feel pretty blah today. I jumped through all the necessary hoops this week . . . I accepted the new job, turned in my letter, told my boss, and now I'm just waiting. I'm not good with the waiting. Instant gratification is really the only way to go. It's weird, though, on Monday I was in a GREAT mood and today I'm all blah. It's like Monday is Friday and Friday is Monday and WHAT KIND OF CRAZY WORMHOLE HAVE I FALLEN INTO?

Last night, Heidi and I accidentally drank a bottle of wine. I say accidentally, but it was pretty premeditated.

At dinner . . .

Me: Do we still have beer in the fridge at home?
Heidi: Yes.
Me: Good, because I need a drink. It was a loooong day.
Heidi: Yeah. Don't worry, we have a whole drawer full.
Me: It may take that much.
Heidi: We could get a bottle of wine.
Me: OK, let's do that.

Later . . .

Me: Whoa! Not much wine left in the bottle!
Heidi: That's why I used the big glasses.
Me: Well, if that's all that is left, we might as well just finish it.
Heidi: Exactly.

TO BE FAIR, yesterday was the day I told my boss I was quitting and then he spent twenty minutes trying to talk me out of it and throwing more money at me and telling me I was making the wrong decision blah blah blah. Also, last night Meredith Grey almost died. That occasion calls for wine (whether it is to cope with the grieving or for celebratory purposes, I'll leave up to you). Heidi told me I was cold-hearted because I said I didn't care if she died. FIRST OF ALL, everyone knows I am cold-hearted. My mom said the reason my favorite character on Grey's Anatomy is Christina is because we are both cold-hearted and emotionally stunted. Or something like that. It was a long time ago so I don't remember the exact words but I think that was the gist. Anyway, I wasn't that worried about Meredith dying because A) she is the main character so they weren't going to kill her off because when shows do that? They end up sucking. See: The X-Files, ER, The X-Files again, and . . . how many times did Mulder die? I have completely lost track of my point so let's move on, shall we? AND B) if they DID kill her off, I wouldn't have to listen to her gravelly-voiced whining anymore.

To be honest? I am much more worried about one Mr. Jim Halpert. I do believe Roy may try and mess up his pretty face and Jim Halpert is a lover, not a fighter. I hope he is also a fast runner.

I know it's just a TV show leave me alone!

That's right, I stepped up! She's my friend and she needed help! If I had too, I'd pee on any one of you!

Last night, as he often does, my boss handed me a 20 dollar bill and said, "thank you for staying late." I've never worked for anyone who just randomly hands out cash for doing what I'm already being paid to do. I'm not gonna lie to you, sometimes when he hands me a wad of bills, I kind of feel like a whore. OR I feel like what a whore must feel like, since I don't REALLY know what it feels like to be a whore, never having accepted money for sexual favors. Mom and Dad, aren't you proud?

As he handed me the money, he said, "Jennie. Don't. Drink." Either I have been running my mouth at work too much or he has found this blog. I'm hoping it's the former, because if it's the latter I'm going to have to shut this blog down and start a new, secret one and really that just sounds like an awful lot of work and we all know how I feel about that.

Anyway, after work, I called my roommate to see when she'd be home.

Me: Hey, are you home?
Heidi: No, but I'm on my way.
Me: OK, Boss's Name gave me $20 as I was leaving tonight.
Heidi: Nice!
Me: Yeah, he just said not to drink with it.
Heidi: Why?
Me: I don't know.
Heidi: Hmm.
Me: So, I'm going to Kroger to buy a bottle of wine. Are you in?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: Good. I didn't really want to drink alone, but I totally would have.

So, Heidi and I drank some wine and watched Friends (season 4), then did pilates*, and then drank more wine and watched a really mediocre movie that is only saved by the overwhelming dreaminess that is Mr. Hugh Jackman. I mean, seriously. Check it out.

*For future reference, it is not a good idea to do pilates after drinking wine. It will only make you extra giggly when Mari Windsor says, "reach around."

It's vodka, you know. It goes bad once it's opened.

I would like you to meet my new best friend, Tiny Carton of Wine, little sister of Wine In a Bag In a Box and white trash cousin of Bottle of Wine:

I was at Kroger earlier buying something for dinner and I really wanted a glass (or two) of wine because it has been a long, hard week and it's not even over yet. Not fair! I didn't want to buy an entire bottle, though, because I was by myself and god knows if you open a bottle of wine by yourself one of two things happens. ONE, you only drink a couple glasses and a week later end up throwing the rest of it away because it tastes like toilet cleaner (I'm assuming) or TWO, you finish it all. Since I have to work tomorrow, TWO wasn't an option and the thought of dumping alcohol down the kitchen sink filled me with terror and seething rage because that goes against EVERYTHING I STAND FOR. So, you see? Tiny White Trash Cousin of Bottle of Wine is perfect. Drink what you want and screw the lid back on for later. It would probably even fit in my purse not that I would do that I'M JUST SAYING it would probably fit. The end.

You may notice some items of interest (?) in the background of this picture. THOSE ITEMS BEING the picture of Dora the Explorer made for me by a patient (yeah), our cheapo Target Napoleon Dynamite refridgerator pieces of crap, and OK that's really it unless you're interested in the chip clip. Although, I don't know why you would be. It's not like the chip clip has been on some grand adventure like the toaster. Brave Little Toaster? Anyone? Oh, COME ON!

What is with everyone today? It's Thanksgiving, not truth day!

Last night I went over to my parents' (walked, actually, nearly TWO MILES and yes I live that close to my parents) house to help get stuff ready for today. And by help, I mean stand around, drink wine, and make smart ass remarks.

Granted, I was trusted with several tasks, such as vacuuming, holding the bag open so my dad could squeeze in the 26 pound turkey (a bit like trying to watch a big, fat guy shove himself into a mini Cooper, no?), and making sure everyone's wine glasses never emptied. I was really good at the last one.

And even though I was not given anything but the most minimal tasks, I really think everyone will be able to benefit today from my help yesterday. Especially since I plan on carrying over my wine-glass-filling duties from last night. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Happy Thanksgiving, Internets.