I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.

Apparently, I only write here every six months or so. Remember when I used to write here multiple times a day? Probably not. I'm not even sure if anyone will even see this. Blogs have changed so much. No one has the attention span for them anymore. Everything is Twittered and Tumblred and FOR GOD'S SAKE Snapchatted, which I don't entirely understand because I'm an Old now. When did that happen?

I'm constantly surprised by the passing of time. Which is ridiculous. It's been passing my whole life but I'm still shocked by it. When someone says something happened in 2007, I think, "oh, that was just a couple of years ago," but no. It wasn't. It was eight years ago, actually. Eight years. I could, like, have had an eight-year-old in that time. I mean, I'm glad I don't. Eight-year-olds are little sassmouths. There are already two sassmouths living in this house, we don't need another one.

Anyway. I used to post here so much. I do miss it. The blogging community kind of fell apart in the last few years (and, yes, I realize that by saying "few" years, I could possibly be talking about the last eight years ago...WHO KNOWS). But I also think I used to post here more often because I wasn't happy at work and, probably (who remembers) in other ways. If posting less means I'm happier, then according to my archives, I've been getting steadily happier over the last ten years. I posted over 400 times in 2004 (Jesus, lady, no one needs to hear that many of your thoughts) and a whopping 7 times last year.

Do you guys ever read your archives? I find myself getting lost in mine sometimes, on my most past-obsessed days, trying to figure out where that girl went. Is she still there, somewhere? As we grow and get older, do we always encompass who we once were? It makes me a little sad to think she might be gone completely, but I can't be that sad, because I really have nothing to be unhappy about these days.

I really, really like my job, you guys. It feels weird to say that because it's never been true before. For a long time, two years exactly, I was pretty miserable at work, which made me not want to write anything because misery is exhausting. Then I got a job that I really like and things got really busy and I never wrote anything because work left me exhausted, but in a good way. Because I get to, like, use my brain and stuff. I even get to write sometimes.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't really have an excuse for not writing here more often. Not a good one, anyway. I find plenty of time to watch TV, and too much of it. Which I suppose means the girl I was talking about up there isn't really gone at all so WHEW BULLET DODGED.

NaBloPoMo: Day 1

Willow: Carpe diem. You told me that once.
Buffy: Fish of the day?
Willow: Not carp. Carpe. It means “seize the day.”

Hey, so remember last year when I quit my nice HR job to work part-time at an animal shelter? And how most of my family (and probably my friends) thought I had lost my mind? At the time, I knew it was the right decision, even if others in my life didn’t understand it. Still. I’m not going to pretend it was always easy. Money was tight, my schedule was erratic, and I had no idea if this part-time position would ever lead to anything more.

A few months ago, while working with potential adopters, I met someone at the perfect time. Don’t you love how that happens? I’m sure it’s entirely coincidental, the pure happenstance of meeting someone who passes along a lesson you really need to hear, or it’s something our TV-addled brains just put together for us, wanting to turn our lives into a story with a satisfying narrative. But I don’t care. It’s the greatest feeling, meeting someone who turns out to be the exact person you were supposed to talk to that day.

It was a busy day at work, like always. I had been meeting with people all day, was in fact outside in one of the yards introducing some dogs to each other (you know, normal stuff), when someone came to tell me another person was waiting. I went inside to meet him and, through the course of his interview, realized I was talking to one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Like Heather Anne Hogan nice. (Psst, that’s really nice.)

He was there to meet a few dogs, as his dog had died a few months prior. He wasn’t sure he was ready to adopt another dog and was, in fact, still going to a grief support group for the loss of his pet. We talked a bit about Oak Tree Corner then, and how so many people are uncomfortable talking about grief, or even the idea of grief, and how certainly there are people out there who just don’t understand how hard it can be to lose a pet.

He didn’t end up adopting a dog that day, but during our conversation, he asked me how I ended up working there. I explained that I’d been working in HR for a long time but wanted a change, to do something where I felt like I was making a difference in the world.

In all honesty, in the days and weeks before I met this man, I’d begun to wonder if I’d made a mistake leaving HR. It hadn’t really been so bad, had it? It was a nice enough job. The money was better. The hours were better. I’d been thinking, you know, that maybe I should go back. I felt like I wasn’t contributing enough to the household. I wasn’t making as much money as I had been. My hours, I’m sure, were hard on Joe, since I worked most weekends, and often late-ish on Saturdays and, once I got home, I was usually exhausted. Good exhausted, but still exhausted.

Still, I couldn’t imagine going back to HR. It felt like giving up every time I thought about it. And when I mentioned it to this man, this near-stranger I’d met twenty or so minutes before, he said, “Oh, god, no, never go back.” You see, he, too, had once worked in HR, for more years than I had, and he also hated it, so he left and started his own business and never looked back.

“Don’t do it,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “You’ll regret it.”

I don’t know why I accepted this advice. Unsolicited advice usually makes me go homicidal and, in fact, want to do the exact opposite of whatever I’d been told, because apparently I’m still a child. But I think I was able to take it because it was exactly what I needed to hear, exactly when I needed to hear it. It’s what I knew to be true, deep down, under all the fear and doubt.

A month later, I interviewed for the job I currently hold, a full-time position (at the same company) that I love. The money and the schedule are better, much more in line with my previous full-time position. The difference now is, I’m so much happier when I’m at work. The days are so busy. There’s so much to do. But I’m EXCITED to be there. I love going to work and there are days when I accidentally stay late because I’ve gotten so distracted by whatever I’m working on that I didn’t realize how much time had passed. AND EVERYONE IS SO NICE. Plus, you know, if I ever need a break, there are plenty of fluffy animals around to distract me.

I used to come home from work full of complaints about the day. It was exhausting, and I’m sure not super fun for Joe to listen to. Now I come home and can’t wait to talk about the wonderful people I work with and the animals I work for. So Joe is still sick of hearing me babble, just for different reasons.

I guess my point is follow your dreams or whatever? Even if you’re scared? I don’t know. I still feel like I’m faking my way through this whole “being an adult” thing most of the time, but I think I’m getting better at it. So there’s hope for anyone, I suppose.

All I want for Christmas is this

I keep dreaming about work. But not my current job or anything, because that would be normal. No, I keep dreaming about my old job, which is very annoying as I no longer work there. 

I guess I had a lot more anxiety tied up in my previous job than I realized. The reasons aren't really important. But apparently the anxiety didn't magically go away, even though I haven't worked there in months. I had the most vivid dream about it last night, so vivid that I woke up convinced I was running late, that I needed to get up right away and leave early since it was snowing.

I don't have to be at work until 11:30 today. I woke up at 7:30. So. You do the math.

I don't have anxiety dreams about my new job. Not yet, anyway. Maybe those don't show up until you've been there at least six months. Still. I wish I'd stop dreaming about my old one. I'm not holding my breath or anything, I mean, after all, I had an anxiety dream about high school a while ago and high school is a lot further back than a few months.  

Speaking of work (NICE SEGUE), I had yesterday off so I took my sister to see Catching Fire. We went in the middle of the afternoon and there were about ten other people in the theater, and yet there was still a lady sitting a few rows behind us, explaining specific plot points (loudly, of course) to her husband. She was one of those people who, instead of whispering to her partner during non-silent parts of the movie, would try and speak OVER the loud parts, because OMG what if he couldn't hear her? What if he didn't know that, in the previous movie, Peeta and Katniss had almost eaten poison berries? What if he forgot that Katniss had volunteered for Prim? What if he didn't remember that District 13 supposedly didn't exist? OMG PEOPLE GO HOME AND READ THE BOOKS.

Usually movie-talking sends me into an apoplectic rage. I normally sit there fuming, wishing I could get up and scream, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UUUUUUUP" into the person's face.

Which. I never do. Not out loud. But my brain always looks like this:

Actually...it's probably more like this:

But it didn't bother me that much yesterday. I thought, "well, maybe he's hard of hearing and he missed that part." I guess I finally remembered the whole "this is water" thing while I was actually IN the moment. Score.

(Though that didn't stop me from passive aggressively complaining about the ongoing idiot commentary within earshot of Talking Lady as we exited the theater. YOU GUYS I CAN'T HELP MYSELF.)

Anyway. I'm finding it hard to get worked up about things lately, especially this morning, as right now I'm sitting on the couch, curled up with Max, a blanket, and a hot cup of coffee, the computer screen illuminated by the Christmas tree next to me. I'm listening to the Muppets sing Christmas carols and snow is falling softly outside. I plan on reading Harry Potter until it's time to leave for work, where I will get to play with puppies and kittens until I come home and hang out with my family for the rest of the evening. No wonder I can't bring myself to get worked up about anything, not even Talky Lady and crazy anxiety dreams. Hopefully it'll stay this way. You know, if the fates allow and all that.

the one where I quit my (seemingly) great job and start something new

Lately, my favorite routine is coming home from work and baking while I listen to Welcome to Night Vale. It's not something I planned. I don't do it every day, or even every week. Just whenever I feel like it.

It's new. I like it.

***

About a month ago, I left my old job. The next day, I went to Myrtle Beach with Joe's family, and, when I got back, I started a new job. So. You know. Things have been a bit crazy around here. My new job is completely different from anything I've done in the past. There's office work, sure, but I have a much more active role in daily goings on at the company. I love it, of course, but it's taken some getting used to. My schedule is completely different, so my body is tired and my brain is confused. But it's been perfect, really. Exactly what I needed.

The job I used to have wasn't terrible or anything, but I couldn't wait to leave it. I worked for an arts non-profit, located downtown, and I worked in a beautiful building with great people. But I didn't get to do any of the fun stuff. I didn't get to interact with the public when they came to shows, see how excited they were. I didn't get to talk up any of the upcoming shows, unless I happened to be at a career fair, because I was in HR.

HR never really gets to do any of the fun stuff. HR is behind the scenes, which I actually prefer, but sometimes you just want to DO, you know? Don't get me wrong, it's important to have an HR department. (Just trust me on this, naysayers.) But I didn't want to be part of it anymore.

***

I went to the annual SHRM (Society for Human Resources Management) conference back in June. It's the largest HR conference IN THE WORLD, boasting something like 28,000 attendees, and all of them were extremely passionate about HR.

All except me, it seemed.

Every morning, there was a keynote speaker. The first day it was Hilary Clinton, the one speaker I was actually excited about, but we missed it because our flight got in too late. The second day was Blake Mycoskie, the creator of TOMS shoes. The last speaker was Mark Kelly, with a special appearance by Gabby Giffords (and holy shit was that something).

It was the third day, the day of some speaker I don't even remember, that I had a bit of a breakdown. An existential crisis, if you will. I got up at one point to use the bathroom and, rather than try and find my seat again in the cavernous auditorium, I sat on the floor in the back, leaned against the wall, and tried to pay attention.

It was then, in the midst of thousands of people clapping for "strategic thinking," and "game-changers" and [insert other annoying buzzwords here] that I thought, "What the hell am I doing here?" How could all of these people bring themselves to care about this shit, let alone at 8:30 in the morning?

But I sat there, almost in tears, wondering how in the world I'd ended up in this place, and sent desperate texts to Joe.

Yes, you could say I was being a bit overdramatic.

***

This epiphany or whatever you want to call it made me start to think about what I wanted. And then later, on the way home, there was an incident, one in which my boss said some, just, unbelievably rude and crazy things to me (this was not outside the norm of her behavior), that just about broke me (straw, camel's back, all that). I fumed the entire way home and practically ran out of the airport once we landed. I went into work the next day ready to turn in my notice. It was crazy, and irresponsible, and obviously I didn't do it, but I really, really wanted to. I've never come close to doing anything so irresponsible.

Instead, I started applying for jobs. Which is as equally frustrating and soul-crushing as is going to a job day after day that you hate. I found myself applying for HR jobs, because that's what I'm qualified for, with a sense of resignation. I wondered why I would want to leave a company I liked just to work another HR job. I wondered what the other options were.

***

Lo! But behold, a shining light in the distance, brought to me by the magic of social media! Someone on Facebook posted a job for an Adoption Counselor at a nearby animal shelter. This person would get to work with animals and make sure they found good homes. Puppies! Kittens! YOU GUYS.

"Shit," I thought. "I'd better apply for this."

So I did. And I interviewed. And I got it.

It's part-time. It doesn't pay as well as my old job. But I love going into work. I love it. I don't come home hating myself and the world. I don't cringe every time I open my work email or get a text from my new boss. No one snaps at me or assumes I'm an idiot or micromanages everything I do. People trust me. It's magical! I'm happier (ask Joe), so much happier that I can't believe I wasted so much time being unhappy in my old job.

SPEAKING of Joe, this is really all thanks to him. I was unsure about taking this job, being part-time and less pay, but he was adamant. He pushed me, in a kind way, into being brave and trying something new. This is what he does. That's why he's the best. 

I don't know where this new path will lead. Maybe I'll work with animals forever in some way. Maybe this is just a thing I'll do for a while. Maybe (HOPEFULLY) I'll use more of my free time to write and be able to make that into something. WHO KNOWS. I don't. And for a person who plans EVERYTHING, including their own free time, that is a pretty big fucking deal.

Some people wait a lifetime...

Halloweentime is almost over and it's finally sinking in that, once again, I hardly took advantage of it. I mean, I watched a couple of horror movies but nowhere NEAR the number I wanted to. For those interested, I watched: Cabin in the Woods, Village of the Damned, and Slither. THREE MOVIES. THAT'S IT? Who am I?

I feel like this always happens around holidays, especially Halloween and Christmas. I really MEAN to celebrate them but I never feel like I celebrated them as well as I could have. And WHO CARES. No one. No one cares that I forgot to listen to Christmas carols until the day before Christmas or that I didn't carve a pumpkin or that I didn't dress up AT ALL.

OK, I care about that last one. Luckily, even though I was sick for the Halloween party we were invited to, I was able to dress up for work today. Sure, I'm dressed in a costume I've worn twice before but it's the best costume I've ever worn so I feel no shame. Why shouldn't I get as much mileage out of it as possible?

Anyway, so that's why I'm dressed as Velma today. AT WORK. This is my favorite costume ever and I'll tell you why:

1. I can utilize the glasses I already wear as part of my costume.
2. I already have similar hair to Velma, so I don't have to wear a wig or really do anything different to it.
3. The costume is basically regular clothes, so I'm pretty comfortable.

All of these reasons revolve around my ever-present laziness. I'm too lazy to put in contacts in the morning, I'm too lazy to do anything crazy to my hair, and I'm too lazy to really MAKE a costume, so I just wear normal clothes. This is my idea of a perfect Halloween! Which is why, in the past, I've dressed up as the following:

1. Kelly Clarkson (this mostly consisted of me walking around all night screaming, "FOR A MOMENT LIKE THIS!")
2. Lucy van Pelt
3. Adam Sandler
4. Um, that's all I remember.

I feel like my costumes were more elaborate when I was a child. One year, my mom made me this awesome playing card costume. I think I was the Ace of Spades or something. I don't remember. But it was so great! Only I couldn't sit down all night, so that was kind of a problem only not really because who ever sits down when they're a kid? Especially when they're trick-or-treating?

Speaking of, can we institute some kind of adult trick-or-treating? Like, I don't have kids, but I still want free candy, so can I take Max out trick-or-treating or something? I mean, HE ALREADY HAS A COSTUME.

Wiener on wiener action

big pimpin'

Dear Daytonites and Dayton-nearbys,

Do you want to see TRACES at the Victoria Theatre? You should, because I've heard it's pretty awesome. Here, take a look:



You want to see it, right? Of course you do. Unless you're used to seeing people fly around like Spiderman and if that's the case WHERE DO YOU LIVE because I want to go to there.

If you want to see TRACES on December 6, 7, or 8, go to VTA Ticket Center Stage and use the coupon code: jennieb. This coupon code is only good today and tomorrow.

Sorry if you don't live in Dayton and can't see this but not THAT sorry, because, you know, you don't live in Dayton.

Full disclosure: if I sell the most tickets with my coupon code, I get moneys. You want me to get moneys, don't you? THEN BUY TICKETS. Or make people you know in Dayton buy them. Either way. 

This blog will now return to its regularly scheduled programming: poop and butts.

and then I went back to my desk and made sure my post-its were organized by color and size

I'm in the process of switching jobs with someone at work. I'm taking over all of her duties (heh, duty) and she's taking over mine. I'm still in the process of getting organized, which is fine because I really like organizing things because I'm a tool. Yesterday, I finished using all these employee files, so I gave them to another co-worker because she needed to do some shit with them. That is the technical term.

Me: Here are those files.
Her: Great, thanks.
Me: No problem.
Her: Oh my god, did you put these in alphabetical order?
Me: Yes, why?
Her: No one else ever gives these to me in alphabetical order.
Me: Well, Coworker. Let me tell you something. I am incredibly anal retentive.
Her: Ha, well, you don't have to do that.
Me: You know what? I really can't help myself.

You're probably going to wonder how I wind up talking about chipmunks by the end of this. I wish I could explain it. But I cannot.

A couple weeks ago, my boss mentioned that we'd be making a training tool for people to use during Open Enrollment this year. Everyone has to enroll online, even if they're not changing their benefits OR THEY GET NOTHING. Apparently this is a problem for some people because they don't know how to read or click buttons or something, hence the training tool. Basically, it takes them through each enrollment screen and points where they need to click and highlights important information and puts blinking red lights next to things they're NOT supposed to click. While it takes them through each screen, someone reads all the instructions to them in a calm, soothing manner so they don't get too excited and their heads don't explode from all the thinking.

That someone is me. When my boss initially brought up the idea of this training tool, she said that someone would probably need to do the voiceover. No one really volunteered, but we all joked around that we'd hold auditions and stage an American Idol-style competition to pick the lucky winner. Then no one said anything about it for like a week and so I forgot about it. Until last week, when my boss asked me if I'd be comfortable doing the voiceover, because of my "pleasant voice and good diction." Heh, DICtion. Anyway, since there is nothing I love more in this world than the sound of my own voice, I agreed.

So earlier this week, I spent about an hour in the conference room with one of the IT guys, speaking slowly into a tiny microphone. Seriously, you guys, this microphone was hilarious. It was on a little microphone stand, but it was like . . . chipmunk sized. Like a chipmunk could use it to sing his indie rock songs. Not Alvin & the Chipmunks, though, because I always got the impression that they were bigger than normal chipmunks. What's that about? Were they like radioactive chipmunks? Or did Dave feed them human growth hormone or something? Chipmunk growth hormone? Anyone?

ohmygodyouguysimissedyousomuchtoday

SIGH.

OK, so this morning on the way to work, I was listening to this radio station that asks an impossible question every day and today the impossible question was "10% of men say they don't do this," and my first thought was that 10% of men say they don't masturbate. Then I was all, oh my god, there is no way that many men in this world don't masturbate but then I thought, "well, the question was 10% of men SAY they don't do this," and I'm sure 10% of men might SAY they don't do it. But every guy I know is really proud of their masturbatory skills. Not sure why. ANYWAY. Then I thought that maybe like 10% of the male population might be really old guys and maybe they can't masturbate anymore but then I realized that really old guys might just go ahead and buy some Viagra just so they can masturbate and that's when I realized I was thinking about old men masturbating so I decided to change the radio station. Anyway, the answer to the question was 10% of men say they don't follow sports, and I'm still not really sure I believe that.

Then later on in the day? I actually sang the "Fifty Nifty United States" song to myself because I couldn't remember if there were any states that start with an L besides Louisiana. Yes, I remembered the entire song. Welcome to my brain. It's a scary place.

WE WERE ON A BREAK!

Dear Internets, I'm afraid that I will be neglecting you in the next few weeks. Maybe months. You see, my new job? The one I started today? They are much stricter when it comes to usage of The Internets. The monitor everything, kind of like Big Brother. And as much as I like to break the rules, I do not like getting caught.

Yeah. I give that a week.

So, today I got to wear big girl clothes instead of scrubs. My feet hurt. As soon as I came home I took off all my big girl clothes and put on sweats, which as far as I can tell is the best part about wearing big girl clothes. Except for the sound that big girl shoes make on tile. I love that. Also, I love the cute, big girl shoes. There is something really funny about the phrase "big girl." Maybe it's because we call my friend Mary's roommate "Big Girl." He is neither big nor a girl. Discuss.

I went the whole day without checking my e-mail. Well. Not true. I checked it in the morning before I left. And I checked my work e-mail, but I only got one today and it was just to tell me how to set up my voicemail. HARDLY as much fun as my personal e-mails. Also, as soon as I got home, right before I stripped off all my big girl clothes, I fired up Google Talk. I didn't have much in my e-mail, but at least the dose of internet finally stopped the cold chills, the dizziness, and the shaking.

I am ready to face any challenges that might be foolish enough to face me.

Today is my last day at work and this morning I left my apartment with my pants on backwards. NOW. Before you judge too hastily, they are SCRUB pants with a tie in the front (well, in the back today) so it's not like it matters that much if you're wearing them backwards or forwards or sideways or upside-down. Except for those last two, I'm not sure how you'd go about doing that.

I fixed them once I got to work. And I didn't tell anyone. Except you guys. This is just like on the last day of high school when I forgot the combination to my locker. For real. It was just . . . gone. Which was probably good, because a couple months before that I had spilled rancid hot chocolate all over everything inside and the smell still hadn't gone away by the end of the year. That smell is probably still there. It was the unholiest of all unholy smells. It made all of Central unit smell and Central was a BIG unit (heh).

I have no idea where I'm going with this. True story.

This year more people will use cocaine than will read a book to their children.

"Hi, Linda. Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager. You might remember testing my urine a few years back, when I was applying to be a volunteer sheriff’s deputy."

"We test a lot of urine."

"Mine was green."

"Oh, right. How are you?"

"I’m all better."

-The Office (duh), "Drug Testing"

Remember that list I made yesterday? And how I said I probably wouldn't get around to much of it? Well. AS IT TURNS OUT, I got around to almost all of it. Except for cleaning the bathroom. And going to the gym, but I'm doing that later. I also got around to doing some stuff on the second list, like sleeping in and reading and watching TiVo. No thin mints, surprisingly enough. DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?

So far, the highlight of my day was going to get my drug test. I've never had to get a drug test before so it was a new experience. I was a little nervous, because whenever I have to pee in a cup at the doctor's office I get stage fright. Which is weird, because normally I pee constantly. Well, not CONSTANTLY, because that would be messy. But I pee A LOT. So before I left to go get my test, I drank a whole bunch of water and prayed I wouldn't pee myself before they called my name.

It turns out it's a much more intricate system than I'd been expecting. I thought she'd just hand me the cup, I'd pee in it (and probably on my hand) and give it back lalala all done. FIRST OF ALL, she inspected the form I'd brought with me (supplied by my new employer) and she asked if they'd just given it to me. "No," I replied. "I've had it for a while, hahaha." Because I have had it for a while. It only just occurred to me that the reason she gave me such a funny look when I said that is because she thinks I waited so long to get my drug test because I smoked a lot of crack or meth or ecstasy or whatever it is the kids are doing these days and needed time to flush out my system or something, but really it's just because I'm a big, giant procrastinator and it didn't occur to me that I still hadn't gotten tested until yesterday. Not that I really look like a drug addict, but sometimes you can't tell, you know? I don't even know how long drugs stay in your system. I used to work at a Vitamin World in college (shut up) and sketchy looking characters used to come in and buy this stuff that supposedly flushes out your system. I don't know. I didn't mind them. They were quiet and left the store quickly. The only customers I really minded were the secret shoppers and the geriatric cowboy who came in one night with an ice cream cone in one hand and his giant belt buckle in the other. He spent about an hour in the store hitting on me and asking if I was a christian while I begged the other customers with my eyes to please please please make him leave but that's a story for another day.

Anyway, so this drug testing lady looked like my grandma. She definitely wasn't as nice, though. She made me wash my hands and lock up my purse and told me NOT to flush the toilet or run water and she took the trashcan out of the bathroom. Also, my grandma has never made me pee into a plastic cup, at least not to my knowledge.

Still. I tried to be friendly. After all, she spends her entire day handling pee. Also? Once I'd handed over my pee (full to the brim, I'll have you know) she made me sign my form with her pen but she didn't let me wash my hands until after. I really hope she throws the pen away every time. Otherwise, I don't want to know how many pee germs are all over it. And don't you tell me pee is sterile, it's still pee.

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.

Rule #76: No excuses. Play like a champion!

Do you ever go through phases where you don't feel like the life you're living is your own? Or like you're really dreaming and any moment you're going to wake up and everything will come crashing down? Or that finally, FINALLY, pieces of your life seem to be falling into place and you're afraid to breathe too hard in case they drift away in the wind again? Is it possible to feel all of this at one time? Because that's how I've been feeling lately. Not that things are perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but when are things ever perfect? My major problem is waiting until things seem perfect to make any kind of change, which explains why I don't make changes that often. Because I plan EVERYTHING in my head, down to conversations that NOT ONLY haven't happened yet, but may never happen. Lately, I've decided to say "fuck that!" (exclamation point, very important) and do whatever the hell I want, planned or not, if I think it has even the slightest possibility of turning out well.

What I'm saying is I don't really feel like myself. I feel like a better version of myself. I'm going to turn in my resignation when my boss gets into the office this afternoon and I'm not nervous. At all. I test the butterflies every few minutes by thinking about handing him that letter and they've been quiet, unfluttering, since I got the phone call yesterday. Do you realize how strange it is for me not to be nervous about something? I get nauseous sometimes before making a phone call.

This is all leading me to believe that my body is getting ready to stage some kind of coup, and the moment I hand over my letter I will also throw up all over my boss. What an exit.

I felt like I could just fly, but nothing happened every time I tried.

I've had a lot of roommates over the years. OK, not that many, really. And aside from freshman year of college, I was friends with all of them. For some reason my freshman year roommate, the one who only went to Wittenberg because her boyfriend already did and who didn't sleep in our room after Thanksgiving and also who didn't move her textbooks from a towering pile on her desk all of second semester . . . she and I did not become great friends. Probably because one time I accidentally locked her out of our room when she was in the shower. Also, I was always in our room with one friend or another which meant she and her boyfriend had to have sex in his room and I don't know if you remember what the guys dorm floors smelled like, but it is a smell that TO THIS DAY haunts my dreams. Anyway. She and I? Not so much what you'd call close.

My current roommate, however? Freaking kicks ass. I don't want to make you jealous or anything, but when I got home on Sunday she had folded a load of my laundry that I'd left in the dryer all weekend. I have a habit of doing that. And last night she shared her wine with me and I think she even gave me the bigger glass. She is either really generous or was trying to get me drunk so she could take advantage of me. I'm leaning toward the former. I would say out of all of my roommates, Heidi and I get along the best. Which is saying a lot, I think, because all of my other roommates were when I was in college and while there is a lot of stress in college (like, say, choosing between writing a paper or going to the bar and THEN writing a paper), it's nothing to compare to the stress of choosing between paying rent and buying groceries. Not that we've ever had to do that. Yet, anyway.

And also? When I e-mailed her and told her I'd finally gotten the phone call I'd been waiting for, and that it was good news, her response was, "now, of course, we need to go shopping." Because we do. It is necessary. Because I can't keep borrowing Heidi's grown-up clothes. I mean, yeah, we're close, but we're not the Sweet Valley Twins. We don't even look alike.

Tom Sawyer, you tricked me. This is less fun than previously indicated. Let this corny slice of Americana be your tomb for all eternity.

Last night, I had the shortest Conversation with My Roommate EVER!

Heidi: Are you watching the president?
Me: Yes.
Heidi: Why?
Me: Because I hate myself.

except maybe for this!

Me: What are you making for lunch?
Heidi: . . .
Me: . . .
Heidi: . . .
Me: So . . . Wendy's?
Heidi: I'll get my coat.

And for good measure, A Conversation With My Coworker!

Coworker: That patient in there works for the FBI.
Me: No way!
Coworker: Yep.
Me: Do you think he has a gun?
Coworker: Um, I don't know.
Me: Oh my god, seriously, do you think he does?
Coworker: I don't know, I didn't pat him down.
Me: Does he have a badge?
Coworker: Well, Jennie, I'm sure he DOES have a --
Me: Did he take it out all, "FBI! EFF. BEE. EYYYYYYE."
Coworker: No.
Me: I wonder if the FBI is like The X-Files.
Coworker: I seriously doubt it.
Me: Oh my god, I wonder if he has a gun!
Coworker: Um.
Me: Do you think he'd let me hold it?
Coworker: God, I hope not.

and also!

Me: That patient just asked me to mapquest something for him.
Coworker: Rude.
Me: I know, do I look like goddamn Triple A?
Coworker: Not really.
Me: Does he want a trip tick, too? I mean, I'm not doing anything else.

and finally!

Me: My stomach hurts. I can't tell if I'm hungry or nauseous.
Coworker: Maybe you're pregnant.
Me: That's not funny!
Coworker: Then why are you laughing?
Me: . . . I don't know.
Coworker: You're not, are you?
Me: No!
Coworker: That's good.
Me: Tell me about it. Anyway, my mom taught my sister and I all about birth control.
Coworker: That's a relief.
Me: Are you saying I shouldn't have kids?
Coworker: Well . . .
Me: Hey!
Coworker: Jennie?
Me: Point taken.

AND FINALLY, Things My Friends Will Never Let Me Live Down (with good reason):

That time I (drunkenly) danced with an old (and I'm talking OLD) man*

That time I (drunkenly) fell down in the McDonald's parking lot and wouldn't get up*

That time I (drunkenly) tried to break into someone's condo*

the phrase "bang out," although why that phrase** hasn't caught on yet, I DON'T KNOW

Bowtie Guy (who, I will point out ONCE AGAIN, did not have a bowtie)

That time I almost killed us taking that turn in Chicago

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

OK, that's enough.

*these all happened the same night
**I did not invent this phrase

and all the girlies say I'm pretty fly for a white guy

So, this might surprise a lot of my long-time readers (all five of you) and most of the people who know me in real life (um . . . the rest of you), but I am like the nicest person alive when I'm at work. I think it's because I'm getting paid to be nice. I find it easier to smile if someone is giving me money for it. Maybe easier is the wrong word. Anyway, so at work I'm totally nice and a model employee. This comes in handy when I have to deal with some of the assholes who come into our office. Did I say assholes? I meant patients (no, I didn't).

However, we do have some people that come in that are nicer for free (!) than I'd be for a hundred million dollars. So, I feel like I have to be extra nice to them. This one lady came in yesterday and gave me a box of chocolate JUST BECAUSE I'M NICE TO HER and also a card that says nicer things about me than I deserve. Thank you, nice lady! This is better than the time that little girl gave me a picture of Dora The Explorer! I also get to have conversations with nice, tiny children that go something like this:

Tiny Child: Guess how old I am?
Me: Seventeen?
Tiny Child: Nooooo.
Me: Fifty-eight?
Tiny Child: Nooo!
Me: One and a half?
Tiny Child: No!
Me: OK, how old are you?
Tiny Child: This many!
Me: Four fingers?! Wow!
Tiny Child: I know.

OK. Why does Phoebe always wait to poo in her litter box until I get home from work? And then she doesn't cover it up (why, CAT, why???) and it's not like cat poo smells like roses. It doesn't. It smells like human poo, only worse.

You guys know how I got called for jury duty? Heh, duty. Well, I was talking to my mom today and it turns out SHE got called for jury duty the same day I did. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "No! Way! Jennie, what forces of the universe had to collide to bring forth this inconceivable turn of events?" And I say to you this! Seriously? How the hell should I know? I know not of how possible jurors are chosen, all I know is that I AM THE CHOSEN ONE.

Also, so is my mom.

Anyway, I'm glad I'll at least have someone to talk to, but my mom being there does lower the chances of me meeting my soulmate, aka Rich, Fancy Lawyer Who Will Buy Me Things. Seriously. I need a sugar daddy (not the candy) in the worst way.

you and me baby ain't nothing but mammals

There's this new radio station that comes out of Cincinnati or Fairfield or Giant Jesus, I'm not sure, called The Sound. And I want to have its babies. I'm not even kidding. This past weekend they were playing Top 10 Lists from listeners and they played, I shit you not, Ring of Fire. That is enough to buy my love forever and ever. If you want me to have your babies, I'm pretty easy. Ring of Fire. That is all.

Ring of Fire aside, I would love this station anyway because it sounds like every mix tape I ever made in high school but NOT ONLY THAT it also sounds like what a mix tape I might make now would sound like. You know, if the mp3 player hadn't totally axe murdered the mix tape. Poor mix tape.

Yesterday, on the way to work, I heard . . . wait for it, The Bad Touch. I have such mixed feelings about this song. On the one hand, it reminds me of these two girls in college who made up an entire choreographed dance to it. I would try to describe it to you, but words fail me. I wish Youtube had been around back then because they would have been ALL. OVER IT. ON THE OTHER HAND. Caps lock off. On the other hand, that song also reminds me of Scary Larry, who I worked with in high school at the local library and who asked my friend Sarah if I wanted to do it with him like they do on the Discovery Channel. When Sarah told me this, I believe my exact words were, "What the fuck? Wait . . . no, really, what the fuck?" Eloquent, I know but what would YOU have said to that? SERIOUSLY, who says that? That is beyond borderline inappropriate and topped all of the other creepy things he ever said TO MY FACE, like the time he told me I reminded him of the Virgin Mary or when he asked if I liked snake handling. I believe my response to that last one was, "Seriously? Keep your snake away from me."

Abraham Lincoln once said, if you’re a racist, I will attack you with the North.

People kept asking me if I have today off and every time they did all I could think was, "why do people keep asking me that?" Because, no, I do not have today off. If you do? I don't want to hear about it. Although, to the dear people of Dayton, at least I can take pleasure in the fact that it is RAINING on your day off. I'm sorry, that was mean. I'll try to be nicer (no, I won't).

I really wish it would stop raining, though. Yesterday, I tried to trade someone the internet for the sun but he wouldn't go for it unless I threw in a little something more than the internet. I still think it's a fair trade! Both bring joy and allow for hours of entertainment. Also, I don't remember the last time I saw the sun so really . . . come on. Think of someone else for a change and GIVE ME THE SUN. All this rain makes me want to nap constantly, something I have no problem with but I doubt my boss would like it if I curled up under my desk and slept all afternoon.

Speaking of napping, have I mentioned how much I love my new bed? Because I do. Love. It. I wish I could spend all day in it, but again, something tells me my boss wouldn't like it if I called in sleepy. Some weekend mornings? I'll get up and brush my teeth and check my e-mail and wander around the apartment trying not to trip over Phoebe, and then I'll look over at my bed, the covers still sleep-tussled, and I'll think, "hmm, that looks nice . . . I think I shall lie down for a moment to collect my thoughts." And so I'll flop down face first in a pile of comforter and when I wake up it's suddenly one in the afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas. But technically, since I'd already gotten up and brushed my teeth, it's not like I was just getting out of bed at one. It was a catnap that totally snuck up on me and you can't fight those!

SPEAKING of sleeping . . . I couldn't last night. Well, I mean I slept a little. I stayed up too late reading and then riiiiiight as I was on the cusp of sleep, my cell phone made that little, trilling noise that means I got a text message and I couldn't just NOT read it. That's crazy talk! So I read it, considered responding, realized that would be a lot of work, and then fell into a crazy, crazy dreamland. Seriously. These dreams were IN. SANE. I don't want to talk about it because I feel like you all already suspect that I am crazy, but telling you about these dreams would just prove it to you. I SWEAR. Oh, and also? I think Heidi and I have officially been living together for too long because she told me she had a zombie nightmare the other night. Which means I have passed along my zombie-phobia. Which is a totally logical phobia because zombies are scary. Seriously.

Dear Internets, did you have a good weekend? Mine was fantastic. I did nothing. Except I did a load of laundry. And went to the library. And read almost a whole book (yay, maybe I am no longer borderline retarded!). AND I showered both days, even though yesterday I showered and then immediately put my pajamas back on. Whatever. I also watched about a million movies, including but not limited to: Someone Like You (eh), Syriana (The Clooney!), Dead Poets Society (see previous entry), Steel Magnolias (shut up), Under the Tuscan Sun (Marcello!), and Shopgirl. OK, and I had really low expectations for Shopgirl (don't ask me why I rented it, then) but I loved it. LOVED IT. I have such a nerd girl crush on Jason Schwartzman; I don't know why. It is inexplicable. THAT WHICH CANNOT BE EXPLAINED.

I have obviously run out of things to say, so I'm just going to back away slowly. Bye.

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."