Sometimes you have to just be the boss of dancing

This is going to be disgusting. I'm just warning you. My back is literally PEELING OFF. It's so gross. I mean, dead skin, great bits of it, slowly peeeeeeeeling off of my body. Ugh, I'm making myself nauseous just thinking about it.

Moral of the story? I'll be wearing lots and lots of sunscreen at the zoo. I do not want my face to peel off in the manner of my back. I can hide my back by wearing a shirt but I cannot really hide my face unless I wear a burqa or something, and that seems disrespectful.

You know what's great? Getting a long e-mail from someone you haven't heard from in a while. Yes, Amy, I am talking about you and while I'm at it, please update your blog. Because I am bored. Anyway, she had some book suggestions which gives me an excuse to go to Half Price Books and you know I'll take any excuse to stop in there and drool on the literature.

So, I've been watching America's Next Top Model a lot lately (thank you, TiVo) and have decided that I could never be a model. Physical attributes aside (to begin with, I'm short . . . yeah, really short), I just don't think I could say things like "that's fierce" without giggling or stabbing myself in the eye afterward. Although, I would like to hang out with Janice Dickinson because hello! Bitch is crazy.

AND NOW, Conversations With My Roommate:

Heidi: Did you ever e-mail that guy back?
Me: Oh, no, I forgot. It's probably too late now.
Heidi: Yeaaaaah, it's been like two weeks.
Me: Oh well.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: Unless I e-mailed him and told him I've been in the hospital or something.
Heidi: Yeah, you could say, "I fell down and have been in a coma, sorry!"
Me: Well, I do fall down a lot, so it's not a total lie.
Heidi: True.
Me: Or, "Sorry, my gonorrhea was acting up, but I'm ok now!"
Heidi: "I had a syphilis outbreak!"
Me: Haha! "Don't worry, it's better now! Do you want to meet me?"
Heidi: Hahahaha! "I'm on antibiotics now so everything is under control."
Me: Oh, god. I'm totally dateable.
Heidi: Totally.

como se llama, bonita, mi casa, SHAKIRA SHAKIRA

Today is one of those days where I wish I could write something serious and thought out but instead of putting in all that effort I'm going to talk about my sunburn and other things of that nature. Maybe cowbells. The weather. Underwear. WHO KNOWS?

Anyway, so the sunburn. It doesn't hurt anymore. The burn on my arms and thighs has turned a pleasant shade of brown. Tan, if you will. My back, however . . . while it no longer hurts to wear a bra, I'm definitely peeling and it itches ever so badly. Reason number 46 to have a boyfriend . . . he could rub lotion on my back. Or reason number one (and really, isn't it the only reason?) to have some serial killer/crossdresser keep me in a deep, dark well, lower a basket and shriek, "it puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the HOSE again" at me. Anyone? Bueller? And moving on.

So, I didn't do anything productive last night and do you want to know why? When I got home from work, I saw that TiVo was very kindly recording the entire season of America's Next Top Model: Season the Fourth so OF COURSE I had to watch that all evening. After I watched The Daily Show and you know? If there were a 24 hour Daily Show network I would quit my job and stock up on Red Bull and coffee so I could watch it all. Day. Long. Of course, then I wouldn't have any money so I wouldn't be able to pay for cable or, actually, the Red Bull or the coffee. CONUNDRUM. I suppose I could steal the Red Bull and coffee and for that matter the cable, which would probably end in disaster one night when the cable went out and I jittered up to the roof to try and fix it and ended up electrocuting myself or strangling myself with the cable wire. True story.

Another factor in my nonproductivity was the Big Brother show last night, which . . . OK, was kind of boring. I had already learned from the Internets who the 20 finalists were going to be and some of them were no brainers anyway so . . . there was an hour wasted. Well, more like an 55 minutes because about five minutes showcased my Reality TV Boyfriend Kaysar (different than my Fictional TV Boyfriend Jim Halpert) and any time spent looking at Kaysar is time well spent. So hot. Ok, I'll stop now.

I'm in a book rut. Does anyone have any suggestions? I have unread books to read, of course, from my last couple of stops at Half-Price Books, but none of them are inspiring me to actually pick them up and read them. HELP. ME.

Showing one’s teeth is a submission signal in primates. When someone smiles at me, all I see is a chimpanzee begging for its life.

I was supposed to go to Alabama with some friends this weekend, but because of my bad CARma (haha, GET IT) and the expenses associated with it, I had to scratch those plans. Instead, I think my roommate and I are going to go to the Cincinnati Zoo on Saturday. While I cannot afford to travel to the far lands of the South, I think I can manage to swing the admission fee for the zoo, in case anyone else would like to passive aggressively comment about the state of my financial affairs. Oh wait, that was kind of passive aggressive of ME, wasn't it? Ah well. It's my blog and I'll bitch if I want to.

ANYWAY. I'm probably way more excited for the zoo than I should be but it's because I haven't been there in SO LONG. I should probably downplay my expectations just a little considering my hatred of people in large groups, especially in hot weather when the number of large women and hairy, hairy men in tiny tank tops is heightened exponentially. BUT I DON'T CARE. I can't wait to see these guys but I kind of hope Heidi wants to skip these guys. Oh my freaking lord, that picture scares the hell out of me. But these guys! And these guys! I might hyperventilate I'm so excited! Heidi should probably bring one of those little kid leashes so I don't run away and fall into the bear pit or something. But if I did, hopefully Baxter would save me and then I would take him to foggy London town because he is my little gentleman.

WOW, this entry sure took a fast trip to Crazytown, didn't it? I think I set a new record for myself.

gutter, mind . . . mind, gutter

A little while ago, the UPS man came in, looked at me and said, "If you're cold, I've got a package that will warm you up," and after I stared blankly at him for a few moments I realized that a) I was wearing a jacket because the average temperature in our office is -17 degrees, and b) he was holding a box that had probably been sitting in his 85+ degree truck for a couple hours.

But it didn't stop me from giggling.

Pam Beesley is in my Top 8

You know what the best thing about Myspace is? Looking up people from high school that I hated and seeing how fat they've gotten, how many kids they have, and what fast food restaurant they're working at. Yes, it's bitchy but SO WERE THEY. No, I will not share my Myspace profile with you because it's embarrassing enough that I have one. Moving on.

Those of you who may remember my major obsession last summer might be wondering why I have been surprisingly quiet on the subject of Big Brother: All Stars. It's because when I think about it, I get a little too excited and start to worry about my mental health. I'm telling you all this in preparation for any posts which take place after tomorrow's show because you will probably get tired of seeing these words: Kaysar, love, boyfriend, have, babies. Those of you who have been hoping that I'd talk about something other than The Office and my love of TV Boyfriend John Krasinski will get your wish. Although . . . what the hell is wrong with you? The Office is awesome and if you talk shit about my TV Boyfriend I will have to cut you.

It's me. I'm the bobblehead.

I hope everyone had a good Father's Day. Yay for fathers!

So remember how I was going to buy a swimsuit? I tried, I really did, but I haven't found one yet. That didn't stop me from going swimming on Saturday. Don't worry, though, I found a swimsuit in my dresser that I had forgotten about that still mostly fits. There were no wardrobe malfunctions. Oh, and Peter, to answer your question, I'm going to buy the first swimsuit I find that fits right even if it's one of those old lady ones with the little frilly skirt on the bottom. Hot!

So my roommate and I were out by the pool for three hours on Saturday. My poor, fair, European skin had no idea what hit it. Actually, it's not that bad. My back still hurts and the sunburn makes wearing a bra a fun challenge but other than that I only burnt part of my legs. The upper, upper thigh area. I don't know how. Apparently I don't know how to apply sunscreen, which puts me on the same level as, oh, a four year old? Also it's not a good idea to fall asleep by the pool when you are exposing parts of your skin that haven't seen sunlight for months and months. GO FIGURE.

Check out what my roommate's boyfriend bought us. Tell me you're not jealous, YOU LIAR. Dwight Shrute has taken up residence on top of TiVo, a place of great honor where his talents as Assistant (to the) Regional Manager can be fully utilized. Wow, Jennie, shut up. If you guys are lucky, and if I remember later, maybe I will post a picture.

Dwight even watched over our card games on Saturday night, when Lampl and Steve brought their awesomeness to our apartment. We introduced Lampl to the wonders of The Office, through some TiVo'ed episodes, but mainly through Steve and I quoting the show every five minutes which, while probably (probably? hee) annoying, led to the following exchange:

Steve/Me: Abraham Lincoln once said, if you are a racist, I will attack you with the North.
Lampl: Wait, did he really say that?

Good times were had by all. Until this morning, when I woke up and it was Monday and I had to go to work. Seriously, I have a problem with that.

If they stay in there too long, they're gonna get on the same cycle. Wreak havoc on our plumbing.

Today after work I am going shopping for swimsuits. The only thing worse than swimsuit shopping is bra shopping and we all know how I feel about bra shopping. Ugh. I have to buy a new swimsuit because all of my old ones are too big. Which is good. But it means I have to spend money. Which is bad. In theory. Because I do enjoy spending money. And if I want to go swimming without one or both of my boobs flying out (and I really, really do), I'm going to have to spend some money.

Blah, blah, I'm bored. The office is closed for the next week and I will be here all alone. Which technically means I am in charge. And that is why I am wearing jeans and flip flops today. Do you guys call them flip flops or thongs? Sometimes I like to call them thongs because when I say, "have you guys seen my thongs?" or "these thongs hurt my feet," people give me weird looks and I just can never get enough of those. I got one from Heidi last night when I matter-of-factly stated that when I make a sandwich I have to cut it in unequal halves so I know which half to eat first (I have to eat the smaller one first). I pretty much got a blank stare for that, so I didn't continue on to say that when I'm eating chips or pretzels or something I have to eat all the broken ones first. But I do. I don't know why. It's still a step up from certain family members of mine who won't eat a sandwich unless the ingredients have been placed on in the correct order, DAD AND AUNT KAREN I'm looking at you. Hee.

ANYWAY, I'm pretty excited that I don't have to wear scrubs all week. Not that they're not comfortable (because OH they are), but the tops, I feel, give everyone that "so when are you due?" look. Especially if you have even the tiniest amount of boobs. No one has ever actually asked me if I'm pregnant, but I'd hate to think that they are silently judging me for having a child out of wedlock and bringing one more bastard into the world. Hahahahaha. Oh man. Just kidding. I don't care how many babies you have out of wedlock, I just like saying the phrase "out of wedlock." I love bastards!

Speaking of bastards, some representative for the Republican party called our office earlier to tell us we'd been selected for "blah, blah, fake award, donate money" but I didn't actually hear what the award was for because I hung up on them.

Last night, my roommate and I went for a walk because . . . well, it's good exercise and after we started quoting Grey's Anatomy ("Pick me! Choose me! Love me!" . . . yeah, I don't know either) to each other we thought it would be a good idea to get out of the apartment. On our way home we took a lap around Walden Pond (teehee!) and were almost attacked by a gaggle of geeses! It was scary. They hissed at us. Apparently it's nesting season or just after nesting season, because there was something in our apartment newsletter about the goose problem and how it will be over soon because they're going to start using the screamers. That's right. I said The Screamers. The newsletter actually made a special point to tell us not to be alarmed if we heard The Screamers. I'm not exactly sure what The Screamers are as I have not heard them yet. I keep picturing a group of people approaching a bunch of geese and just screaming until the geese look at each other all "wtf?" and then fly away. Also, by the way, I totally want that job.

And now . . . Conversations With My Roommate:

Heidi: Oh, I forgot to tell you this.
Me: Go on.
Heidi: The other day, I was talking to Nick and he was like, "I thought when girls lived together they were supposed to be on the same cycle?"
Me: Um.
Heidi: And I was like, "what are you talking about?" and he must have used your bathroom at some point on Saturday because he said, "Well, let's just say that Jennie's Aunt Flo is in town."
Me: WOW.
Heidi: So I asked him how he knew and he was like, "Heidi, guys stand up to pee and her trashcan is next to the toilet."
Me: Oh . . . my.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: I have to say, I'm a little uncomfortable with how much your boyfriend knows about my uterus.

The end.