I'm in a glass case of emotion!

Today I almost cried at work three times. Three. I counted and then I was happy that I successfully avoided crying at work. I blame it on the hormones. I can use that excuse for only a couple more days and I plan to use it AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.

OH! You guys. I totally forgot to tell you. Remember that short story contest I entered a couple months ago? No? I didn't either. Anyway. So I entered a short story contest a couple of months ago. Good story. And my roommate and I bought a newspaper as we sporadically do . . . for the coupons, you see and NO we're not 60 we're just good at saving. The last time we went to the grocery the cashier told us we were and you do not argue with a Kroger cashier, ok? OK.

What was I saying? Oh, right. So this short story contest . . . the Dayton Daily News is hosting it or whatever, and so I was looking through the paper on Sunday, minding my own business when I see an article about it. This was toward the end of my perusal because I have to read the paper in a very specific way. First, I take out all of the ads and put them in one pile. Then I throw the business section and the sports section on the floor because I don't read those. The classifieds and the real estate section will often end up in that pile BUT NOT ALWAYS because sometimes I like looking at huge houses that I cannot afford. THEN I put the other sections in this order: front page, local, national, life, Parade magazine, and finally, comics because I like to save the best for last and, even though the comics mostly suck, they're still better than reading the rest of the newspaper, which tends to be depressing due to the murders and the war and the gas prices and the monkey president.

WOW, even I don't even really know where I'm going with this anymore. So long story short (hahahaha, that never fails to crack me up so at least ONE person is laughing), I was reading the Life section when I came across the little article about the short story contest. Basically, it was listing the finalists in each category and guess who is one of seven finalists in the Adult Short Story category? That's right, me. Which makes sense, really, because otherwise this whole story would have been kind of pointless. And when I say Adult Short Story category, I mean short stories BY adults, not short stories about boobies, bajengas, and hoo-hoos (oh my).

I wasn't going to say anything until they announced the winners but that is A WHOLE MONTH AWAY and I am excited. Even if I don't win. But I hope I do. I also wasn't going to say anything because I didn't want to jinx myself, but then I realized I was being stupid. Unless I DON'T win, in which case I'm glad I did this so I can blame my loserdom on jinxing myself and not on being a terrible, horrible, no good writer.

You know, I just realized I could have easily made this story a lot shorter, but that would totally defeat the purpose of this blog.

I'm adding a new feature to this blog. I just decided. Right now this very minute. And now I give you . . . Conversations with my Roommate, which honestly I may have embellished just a little but NOT just because I'm a liar, but because I couldn't remember everything word for word, ok? I'M NOT PERFECT:

Me: I like this song.
Heidi: Who sings it?
Me: The Fray.
Heidi: Ooh, I like them, too.
Me: They sing a song that was in a Grey's Anatomy episode.
Heidi: They do?
Me: Never doubt my useless array of knowledge, ok?
Heidi: Ok.
Me: Thank you.
Heidi: They kind of remind me of Maroon 5, before they got all dirty.
Me: Haha, they're dirty now?
Heidi: Well, the lead singer is kind of a manwhore.
Me: Yeah, I guess. I'd still do him, though.
Heidi: Ew.

And SCENE.

Wait, who's "Dwigt?"

Yesterday at Target I walked through someone's fart cloud and almost puked. And then I started giggling because . . . hee hee, fart cloud. Thus proving once again that I have the mentality of a four year old. Six on a good day. Want more proof? I bought a large, beach towel at Target (not for any upcoming beach excursions because this is Ohio and I have no money, but I DO have access to a pool) and I just tied it around my neck like a cape and ran around the apartment pretending I was a superhero. I don't know what my powers would be, though. Procrastination and sarcasm, I suppose, but I don't know if I can disarm my enemies with my biting wit. I might be able to hurt their feelings, though, and we all know that emotional scars run much deeper than the physical ones. ANYWAY.

Speaking of superheros . . . I don't know what to make of that new Uma Thurman/Luke Wilson movie where she plays his ex-girlfriend with . . . superpowers? I don't know. All that I know is Rainn Wilson is in it and that information led to this conversation:

Me: D-W-I-G-H-T.
Heidi: Did you know that Dwight K. Shrute is going to be in a movie?
Nick: Really?
Me: But his name in the movie is unfortunately not Dwight Shrute.
Heidi: Yeah, but he looks just like him.

If you're wondering why I was spelling Dwight's name out of nowhere, it's just because I randomly throw out The Office quotes whenever possible, whether or not they make sense in any given conversation. Try it. It's fun.

Tomorrow is Monday. I don't know how that keeps happening, but I don't like it.

today is 6/9 . . . heh heh heh

This morning as I was driving to work, I got to thinking about how I always like to be prepared. I don't like doing or saying anything unless I know what the other person's reaction is going to be. And if I don't know what the other person's reaction is going to be, I like to run through all the possible scenarios in my head. Of course, none of this applies when I've been drinking because at that point I will do or say pretty much anything without thinking much about the consequences. As I was wondering why I absolutely have to be prepared everything, why I have to be READY for anything that might be thrown my way, I missed my exit. The exit I take each and every morning. So much for being prepared for every situation.

I don't think I've slept an entire night through ever since I started sleeping with my windows open. And not because of the same reasons as when I lived in my old place, where I would always worry that I'd wake up to someone crawling through my bedroom window AND not in a romantic Romeo & Juliet (without the bloodshed) way but with nefarious intentions, like to ass rape me OR WORSE catnap Phoebe or funnap TiVo. Can you imagine? It gives me chills FOR REAL. Anyway, no, those are not the things waking me up. There are air conditioning units outside my window so almost every time they kick on, I wake up. Why these people have their AC on already, I have no idea. We had a couple days of hot hot hot weather and my roommate and I turned on our AC, but then it cooled off so we went back to open windows and fresh fresh air. I love having the windows open, except at 5 AM when the geese start honking or at night when the bullfrogs are out at the pond (real bullfrogs, though, not people having sex like last time) or when our downstairs neighbors leave for work and slam their freaking door as loud as possible. Still. I'll take slammy downstairs neighbors over my loud, upstairs, sex neighbors from my old place.

For a while, we debated whether or not to leave our balcony door open at night. Finally, we decided it was OK because, as I pointed out, if someone really wanted to get in they'd have to get a ladder or a really big trampoline and we'd probably hear the thud as they landed on the balcony. See. Totally prepared for that one.

blah, blah, blah, my name is Thursday and I hump dogs

I think it has become pretty obvious that I have absolutely no idea what to write in here anymore. I have blogger's block. I've thought about just NOT writing in this blog anymore and shutting it down, but the little voice in my head starts screaming, "No! I don't wanna! If you do it I'll hold my breath until I die, I swear I will!" My inside-my-head voice is four years old.

I'm eating pretzel sticks right now. When I was little, I used to eat them very quickly, in tiny, tiny bites and pretend I was a termite. That probably should have gone in my "weird things I did as a kid" entry, but I just remembered it. What kid pretends they're a termite? Good lord.

I feel like lately all I've been trying to do it get through each day, until I finally reach Friday and can enjoy myself. Work doesn't feel real. I play pretend all week long. I pretend to be nice, that yes, of course I want to be here, and no I don't mind that you're half an hour late for your appointment. Sometimes I forget that I have to be nice to everyone who comes into the office, because in my head I can't help thinking, "but I was just nice to the last person!"

And as I sit here thinking that I'm turning into a walking coma, I can't help but worry . . . is this it? Seriously? Force myself to sit still, smile until my face feels like it's going to crack down the middle, and make nice until I can go home and wait for the weekend in peace?

Don't mind me. I'm just feeling very blah lately and I wish I could figure out why so I could fix it. So far all I've come up with was to wear socks with monkeys on them today. WOW this post is stellar.

we're going streaking! through the quad and into the gymnasium! bring your green hat!

Yesterday morning, instead of sleeping until the last possible minute and then racing around like a crazy person to get ready, I got up early, made some coffee and actually ATE breakfast while walking around the apartment half-dressed. Don't worry, my roommate was already gone. It was nice. This morning? I hit my snooze button three times and whirling dervished through the apartment to get ready but I DID get to work on time AND I even stopped at the gas station to get ass raped, I mean gas.

Because of some unexpected car repairs last week, I sat down yesterday and made up a budget. Kind of. I mean, I wrote down all of my monthly payments, you know, things I kind of HAVE to pay, like rent, student loans, and my pimp. And as I looked at the amount of money I should be able to save every month, I had to wonder . . . where the hell does my money go? Then I looked in my checkbook and it all made sense. Target and alcohol, that sounds about right.

It's OK, because the next couple of weekends should be cheap, cheap, cheap. This weekend was. I spent the majority of it watching reruns of America's Next Top Model and plotting to run away forever with my roommate's TiVo. Oh. My. God. I'm a tiny bit obsessed. This is why I never got TiVo. Well, also they're expensive. I hope my roommate doesn't get pissed and move out because I kind of keep filling it with episodes of The Office, Late Night with Conan, and, ohmygodbestofall, The Daily Show. Ooooooh, how I missed The Daily Show. Also? I really like the little blee-bloop sounds TiVo makes. It sounds so happy to be fast-forwarding through commercials and asking me if I want to delete Three Hole Punch Jim or keep him forever.

Does it freak anyone else out that today is 6/6/6? I kind of wanted to call in sick and spend the day either locked in the closet or under my bed or, ok who am I kidding, sitting on the sofa spending my last moments on earth with TiVo.

It was NOT just a stage

Tamara gave me another excuse to put off doing anything productive, and for that I thank her. I've been trying to think of six weird things I did as a kid and honestly, it was harder than I thought it'd be. I either wasn't as weird as I thought I was (ha) or I've blocked out most of the weird things I did. And I didn't want to ask my parents because I was afraid that would bring up a topic of conversation that would NEVER DIE.

So here it is. My list of six weird things I did as a kid. I tried to leave off stuff like eating dog food and running away with a pack of gypsies because I figure everyone did things like that.

1) I thought I could fly if I just thought a happy enough thought. I'm not kidding. It wasn't just "oh, wouldn't it be cool if I could fly by doing that?" but "man, if I could just figure out what my happy thought is I could totally fly right now." Like it was completely possible to fly, I had just never found my happy thought. Yeah. This could have a lot to do with why I've never fully grown up.

2) My friend down the street had one of those Fischer-Price orange and yellow teeter totters. You know the ones I mean? The ones that are made out of flimsy plastic for like three-year-olds? Well, I think I was six or seven (old enough to know better), but I decided to stand on one end of the teeter totter and have my friend push down on the other end. I think I thought I would fly magnificently through the air, do some sort of flip, and then land gracefully on my feet. Either that, or I had given up on the happy thought thing and this was my next experiment in Human Flight.

3) When I was in kindergarten, one day I forgot to get off at my bus stop and ended up riding it all the way to the bus parking lot before the bus driver noticed that I was still there.

4) I don't know how old I was, but I was at my Aunt Brenda's house, trying to go to sleep and when I opened my eyes a BAT was sitting on my chest, staring at me. I screamed and it flew away and TO THIS DAY no one believes that it really was a bat and not my overactive imagination, which, OK, it probably was but I'm still scared of bats. Also pandas, because of a scary dream I had when I was little about pandas sneaking out from under my bed to steal my stuffed animals and they had long claws and red eyes. I don't know how they fit under my bed with all those Gremlins under there, but they managed.

5) I used to hide food all over my room because Claudia did it in the The Babysitter's Club books and books were where I got all my good ideas. This went on for a while, until my dad caught me eating Starburst one night.

6) This goes along quite well with Tamara's protesting of the Vietnam War, but when I was in elementary school I was a total mini-feminist. I went to daycare, and whenever we took a field trip we had to split up into three different vans. The two blue ones were pretty nice, with air conditioning and a radio that got more than one station, but there was also a white one that had no air conditioning, worn seats, and no seatbelts and actually now that I think about it NO ONE should probably have ever ridden in that van. Anyway, at this daycare, there were way more boys than girls. And the (male) teacher would inevitably say, "White van? Ok, all the girls, you're in that one," and each and every time I would bitch and moan and cry sexism until one day he let us ride in one of the nice vans. You know, it still kind of pisses me off TO THIS DAY. In 5th grade, I also railed against the injustice of my male gym teacher picking all boys to help him set up for gym class because THOSE BOYS GOT TO MISS PART OF THE CLASS BEFORE IT. I also got into an argument with my 3rd grade (male) teacher about whether men or women were stronger and I just keep picturing a little, pig-tailed me running my mouth to this guy and it makes me giggle, especially now that I'm old enough to realize he was probably gay (mom? dad? help me out here?) and he was also probably wondering what makes an 8-year-old, middle class, girl from the suburbs SO ANGRY.

Anyway, I don't know who to tag with this, so if you're bored, do it, because then I can read it when I'm bored. EVERYBODY WINS.

and now I'm writing about my cat; the transformation into Crazy Single Cat Lady is complete

Phoebe has this toy. It's this burgandy and white ball thing that someone knitted and donated to SICSA and when I adopted Phoebe last summer, the toy came with her. There is something about this toy that makes Phoebe CRAZY. Usually, the toy sits on the floor and she completely ignores it. Unless it's 4 AM. That's when I wake up to this godawful meowing that sounds like a baby being slowly strangled or shoved into a small cabinet or something. I try to ignore it, but finally I have to get out of bed, take the toy from her and put it somewhere she can't reach it, then I go back to bed and forget about it.

Which is why, this morning when I got dressed, I was really confused to find this mangled, knitted, frayed cat toy in my underwear drawer.