five years feels like yesterday

I don't know about you guys, but I breathed a little sigh of relief when I got out of bed this morning and saw it was cloudy and rainy.

gay, not interested, girlfriend

I really think my radar is broken. Or missing. Or something. Because, seriously? Seriously. Sigh.

Anyway, I found out this morning that another one of my friends will soon be engaged. I can't tell you who. It's a secret. Until later. Then I'll tell you. Stop bugging me, I'm not gonna tell you who it is right now. For real, you sound a little desperate. Leave me alone. God! You're pathetic, stop asking! Go away! Seriously! I hate you!

Right, so this one was less of a surprise than the last one. And while I am really happy and excited for each and every one of my lovely friends and their lovely fiances, and as much as I really, really don't want to get married right now (seriously, maybe tomorrow, OK? mama's tired) I can't stop that little, niggling thought in the back of my stupid brain that says, "Why doesn't anyone want to marry ME?! What's wrong with me?! Seriously! Marry me, assholes!"

Oh. Maybe it's because I call people assholes. Eh.

So. Phase Whatever of the Craigslist Project starts tomorrow. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. There is another little thought in the back of my stupid brain that keeps insisting that this is NOT HOW IT'S DONE. You don't meet that "special someone" (I hate that phrase with the fire of a thousand suns, so I'm still not sure why I keep using it) on the internet (no offense to my male readers, I heart you . . . you, too, female readers). The only people I am going to find on the Internets are psychos and pedophiles*. Nerdy pedophiles, at that. And they're the worst kind.

*I know that's not entirely true and it's a really outdated way to think but I'm tired so SHH.

this will all make perfect sense someday, i'll be ok

Right?

Sometimes, I wish that I was the weather, you'd bring me up in conversation forever and when it rained, I'd be the talk all day

Remember the other day when I declared this a good week and didn't care whether or not I was jinxing myself? Yeah, I'm an idiot (no surprise) because I think I did jinx myself and I got a little jinx on everyone else I know, too. Almost everyone I have come into contact with is complaining about not being able to sleep. Myself included. I'm sorry!

I'm afraid Heidi has had it the worst, though. She was in such extreme pain yesterday because of her KIDNEY STONES (Joey? Friends? Anyone?) that she couldn't go to the concert with me. I mean, it worked out well for my sister, because she got to go, but I'm guessing that is little consolation to Heidi. And, I'm sorry to say, that since Heidi was going to be my accomplice in the Get John Mayer Away From Jessica Plan, I did not get a chance to have a Very Serious Conversation with him. She didn't know she was my accomplice (I couldn't risk her going to the authorities) but SHE WAS. So, I'm sorry. John is still trapped by that waxy, blonde bimbo and her magical vagina, which must transport people to the land of Narnia or something. Seriously. Why do men like her? Am I missing something? Besides a penis?

ANYWAY. Don't you worry about Heidi, because I made up a sweet, get-well-soon basket. I hope she doesn't read this before she gets home tonight. HEIDI IF YOU ARE READING THIS . . . UM, STOP READING AND GO AWAY. SERIOUSLY.

I'm kind of jealous of the basket, because there are coloring books and crayons in it. Lucky! Would it be rude to color a picture before she gets home? Yes? Ok. Good talk. There is also a recorder. A recorder! And it was less than a dollar! I might go back tomorrow to get one for myself.

Oh. Today after work I went out to my car and saw my rearview mirror lying in my passenger seat. Which is weird because I rarely leave my rearview mirror in any of my car seats, passenger or not. So, while I was shopping for goodies for Heidi, I bought some rearview mirror glue. The cashier lady (man? I really couldn't tell) almost didn't give it to me, until I proved that I was over 18, which is retarded because why are people over 18 allowed to huff glue but people under 18 aren't? I mean, I can drive a car (theoretically) so you'd think there'd be more restrictions on me purchasing something like that than a 14-year-old who only has to take an Algebra test tomorrow. Because seriously. How hard is Algebra? More importantly, can you kill someone with Algebra? Geometry, maybe, because you could whip a protractor at someone and slice their neck open, but Algebra? Come on, Algebra is like Geometry's bitch. My car, however, can easily be used as a murder weapon. Do not make me demonstrate. Again.

Perhaps the most frightening thing I saw during my trip to the store was in the parking lot. I was walking behind an old man and noticed, TO MY HORROR, that his shorts were slipping down. Luckily, he noticed too and hiked them up but not before I saw that he was wearing PURPLE, LACY UNDERWEAR. I'm not making this up! I wish I were! My only regret (other than actually witnessing this atrocity) was that no one else was around to corroborate my story.

Right now I am waiting for my computer to explode or Phoebe to take a giant crap in my purse or something equally bad and disgusting but I can't complain. After all, as I said above, I brought this on myself.

what my sister really thinks of me

Last night at the concert*:

Mindy: Ew, what's that smell.
Jennie: Marijuana.
Mindy: Oh.
[slight pause]
Mindy: It isn't yours, is it?

Nice, really nice. And no. It wasn't mine.

*Which, by the way, was awesome but I'm too tired to talk about it. Tired and also lazy.

I'm going to need a ski mask, a copy of Newlyweds, and a jetpack

I may be jinxing myself but I don't care, I think this week is going to be a good one. I'm declaring it good RIGHT NOW. Because there are only four days. And I only have eight hours of work and an hour drive to get through tomorrow before the concert. And I really think, if I just get five minutes alone with him (can anyone help me with this?), I can talk John Mayer out of this whole Jessica Simpson Debacle. Although, if I can't, I can wait it out. I mean, if we got through the Jennifer Love Hewitt months, I think we can make it past Jessica Simpson who, let's face it, is really just Jennifer Love Hewitt with blonde hair and a creepier father.

Ladies, I'll see what I can do.

also, I think Brooks and Dunn are gay for each other . . . you should have seen their shirts

Last night I went to a Brooks & Dunn (Dunne?) concert. I know. I KNOW. But my roommate won free tickets (on a sidenote, how lucky have we been with the free tickets lately? I know. I KNOW) and the woman she was supposed to go with bailed on her so I went. Even though, I don't really like country all that much and wouldn't know a country song if it bit me on the ass. Which turned out to not be true, because I forgot about my brief affair with country music in junior high and it turns out Brooks & Dunne (Dunn?) are really old so I DID know some of their songs. A fact I didn't know whether to be ashamed or proud of.

You guys know how I hate everyone, right? Well, this concert was a gathering of some of the people I hate most; Republicans, Bengals fans who yell "who dey" at every opportune moment, rednecks, drunks, and drunk rednecks. Add the rain and the fact that we were on the lawn in drunk redneck central, where there was an abundance of dirty dancing grinding and LINE DANCING (sometimes all at the same time), and it could have been hell. But it really wasn't that bad.

That was the most anti-climactic story ever. You're welcome.