pubic library

The first job I ever had (besides baby-sitting) was at the local library. I won't use the name but NOT because I'm interested in protecting their sterling reputation. After all, this is the library system where a patron actually pooped in the books. I'm just protecting my own ass.

I worked at this library for over two years, all through junior and senior years of high school and then the summer after my freshman year in college. It was a good job. I got paid more than minimum wage, got regular raises, and got away with doing a minimal amount of work most of the time. Plus, they gave me a going away party when I left for school. And, while there were times where I was so bored that I thought my eyes might actually seep out of my head, the library was usually an endless source of entertainment.

I was friends with most of the people there and work usually ended up being more play than actual work, something I think bugged our superiors to no end. Most of them had no sense of humor. Sure, there were times when we were just screwing off, like the time I put stickers on all of the plants that said "water me." Or all the time we would spend giggling over books called Mommy Laid an Egg or How to Be Your Own Private Dick. Or the time I spun one of the paperback racks as hard as I could, pretending I was on The Price is Right or some nonsense, and all of the books literally FLEW off the rack all over the floor.

So, yes, we messed around A LOT, but usually only when there wasn't much work to do. And, my god, we were teenagers. I think my boss should have had better things to do than follow us around and make sure we didn't giggle too loudly. I remember how paranoid it made me. She was so sneaky. Even when I didn't work there anymore, and I just went in to get some books, if I saw her walk by the aisle I'd immediately start straightening books because OH GOD SHE'LL FIRE ME.

The best day ever was one Saturday when I was working at the front desk. An older lady came in, put her books on the counter and said, "I don't want to alarm you, but someone stole the 'L' from the Public Library sign." Luckily, I was facing the other way so no one saw me start laughing. Pubic Library. Hee. The lady sounded so indignant. So shocked! I expected her to put her hand to her forehead, sigh "woe is me," and then fall to a crumpled heap on the floor.

A few days later, I noticed that the L had been replaced. Ever inquisitive, I went to the sign and pulled on the L, but they had bolted it there and it was NEVER coming off.

Which is a pity, because I think the original L, the one sitting on the desk in my apartment, is getting lonely.

me fail english? that's unpossible!

I can't believe that slack-jawed monkey* interrupted Survivor.

*I think you know who I'm talking about. If you don't, hi! Welcome to my blog. My name's Jennie. It's nice to meet you. Feel free to look around. Explore the medicine cabinet, but please leave my drugs alone.

thank you, Jessica

Today's my 23rd birthday, and in the words of Jessica Simpson, "I'm 23 now, which is almost 25, which is almost mid-twenties."

So wise.

I'm alive

Ok, so I don't think this no internet thing is going to last much longer. The first couple of days I didn't miss it because I still had unpacking and shopping to do. And it hasn't really mattered yet, because I haven't even hooked up my computer.

I can tell it's going to soon be an issue, though. For instance, Monday when I got to work I almost cried with relief as I checked my e-mail. This is not normal. I don't miss cable. I watch less TV when I only have 7 channels to surf. But last night, as I was mindlessly clicking back and forth from a rerun of Will & Grace and a rerun of Frasier I could tell what I was really missing was my mouse. Sniff. My poor, neglegted mouse.

See? I've only been without regular internet access for FOUR DAYS and I'm already delusional.

Anyway, aside from the no internet, I LOVE my apartment. Once I got everything unpacked and all of the boxes torn up and in the dumpster (or in my outside storage unit because I was too tired, ok, LAZY to take them to the dumpster) I just kind of walked around the apartment, touching everything and thinking, "mine." Yes, weird, I know, but no one could see me because I was there ALONE.

Maybe I should use all the time I used to spend online learning how to cook. Sooner or later I'm going to have to learn how to cook something more complicated than what I had for dinner last night, which was a Quesadilla Hot Pocket and chips and salsa.

Olé!

breathe, reboot

It's my last night in my parent's house, and it's fitting that I am in the midst of fighting with my sister. She's actually standing over me right now saying angry things and I'm ignoring her. Oh, how I'll miss this.

Yeah. I've been up since 7 even though I'd planned on sleeping in since I didn't have to work. I woke up because,

a) I could hear my sister in the hallway outside my room, begging my mom to take her to school so she wouldn't get struck by lightening walking to the bus stop.

b) The dog kept barking at the thunder.

c) There was a lot of freaking thunder.

d) I couldn't even stay awake through Futurama, so I probably would have woken up anyway.

So, I got up, showered, and left the house to go to my apartment. I went to Target, Meijer, TJ Maxx, and the Dollar Tree. I love the Dollar Tree. The only store missing was Wal-mart, but I was there last night and I try to make it a point not to go there more than once a week. It was like hillbilly central last night. No offense, hillbillies.

It's strange to think that this is my last night actually LIVING in this house. Every time I've moved out before, it was with the knowledge that I'd be home once spring semester was over. I always had stuff in two places. I had a room at school, and a room at home. This whole undertaking of packing ALL my stuff and moving it to one place is a lot more work than I thought it'd be.

I probably won't be posting for a while because I don't have internet set up at my apartment. I haven't decided if I'm going to or not. The thought of not being able to check my e-mail ANY TIME I WANT is kind of frightening, but I think I'll get used to it if it's just NOT available. I haven't decided if I'm going to get cable, either. If I don't get cable or internet, I'm either going to be a much more well-read person or someone will find me wandering the street clutching my remote and keyboard.

So, I'm about to unplug my computer and finish some last minute packing. Apparently there's a chance that it may rain, snow, and/or hail tomorrow, but we're crossing our fingers that it holds off until the afternoon. Hopefully by that time I'll be drowning in a pile of boxes, but at least I'll be drowning inside.

hate-orade

I hate when I'm on my way to work or, even worse, already AT work and the morning DJs are screaming at people to "get out of bed" and whatnot.

It makes me hate everyone. The people who are still in bed while I'm sitting in my car. The other suckers on the road with me.

But mostly, just the DJs.

challenged

I have total ADD today. I don't know if it's the beautiful weather, The Move, or both, but I cannot concentrate on anything. I'll start to do something, look out the window, and then *poof* there goes my entire thought process. Lost forever. FOREVER.

See? Now I can't even remember what else I was going to talk about.

Le sigh.

ch-ch-changes

My room is quickly filling up with boxes, and you should see how freaked out my dog looks. Mostly because she has no where to sprawl about as if dead, which is her favorite pastime.

I'd take a picture, but I already packed my camera.

pack it up, move it out

I've been packing and whatnot all weekend, because I'm moving next Saturday. That's right, I am finally making the trek out of my parents house (for good) ALL THE WAY . . . across town to Miamisburg. Yeah, so it's only 25 minutes away from my parents house, but it's only 5 minutes away from work and that is just amazing. This entire process started last Saturday when we went to a bazillion different apartments and I finally settled on one. The last one we went to, of course. The first one we went to smelled REALLY bad inside, the second one did not, as I had assumed, have one bedrooms, the next few were blah, the second to the last one was perfect other than the location, but the last one. The last one WAS perfect. And after several mini-breakdowns over the week, I finally found out that I could have it.

I'm so excited, but I just want to get going. I'm signing the lease on Thursday and, since I have the day off, plan on spending most of Friday at MY new apartment that belongs to ME. Whoo and hoo.

Luckily, most of my stuff is still packed up and in storage. Really, all I have to do is pack my bedroom here, which shouldn't be that hard, right? Well, maybe if I didn't save EVERYTHING. I'm so afraid to throw things away. Ooh, maybe I'll need this last post-it note to . . . post-it something. Or, awwww, this book of matches is from that bar we went to a year ago and it reminds me of good times so I'd better NEVER throw it away. Seriously, why do I feel the need to save everything, including batteries that I'm pretty sure no longer work but I keep them anyway, just in case I have some battery-related emergency and they have just enough juice left in them to save me.

So far, I've packed four boxes (I know it doesn't sound like much, but packing my room also involved a lot of cleaning my room and that was time-consuming), and two of those are full of books. They're REALLY heavy. The people who help me move are going to LOVE me. And I'm pretty sure I have two or three more boxes of books in storage. Maybe four. I only have two bookcases, so I really have no idea what I'm going to do with all these books.

Not throw them away, though. Perish the thought.

it might be worth it

I love pineapple. I would eat JUST it every day, every meal, if I didn't think it'd make me physically ill.

directionally challenged

So many people, new patients mainly, call our office asking how to get there. This happens a lot when we're at the office in Mason, which is kind of hard to find. I happily provide the address, but they ALWAYS want me to tell them EXACTLY how to get there.

I just have one question . . . do these people not know about the wonder that is Mapquest? I think that would be a lot more helpful than me telling them stuff like this: "Um . . . turn right at the light, I think the name of the street is Columbus or Columbia or maybe it's Magellan. Anyway, turn right there and then pass a gas station. Or it might be a CVS. Or a Kroger. No, it's a gas station. We're in the office buildings on the left. I mean the right. Wait, which direction are you coming from again? No, don't tell me North or South, tell me what you're driving by."

So. The lesson here. If you want to find something quickly and easily, use Mapquest. If you want to get horribly frustrated and more lost than the people on Lost, ask me for directions.

April showers

I'm going to a bridal shower today. I believe I was doing the same thing about a year ago. I'm afraid I'm reaching the age where my friends are all going to start getting married, meaning I'm going to have to wander around places like Target and Sears with 10 page lists trying to find That Very Special Salt Shaker that will make That Very Special Day even MORE special.

I got the bride's gift a couple of weeks ago. After searching Target for about half an hour for things on the list and not being able to find even ONE that I wanted to buy, I noticed that they had registered for two movies. So, I bought them 50 First Dates. Sure, it's probably the most inessential thing they'd registered for, but I think it's the most fun. Except for the bar set, but someone had already bought that (damn you, Nancy.)

I am just not a bridal/baby shower kind of person. I can "ooh" and "aww" with the best of them while the bride/mother-to-be opens gifts, but I feel so fake. I don't care about dishtowels unless they're mine, and even then I don't really care.

I've decided that I'm having my bridal/baby shower at a bar. And if it's not at a bar, there will be an OPEN bar at the shower. The only games played at my shower will be beer pong and flip cup and I'll register at the liquor store. I mean, I know I can't drink at my baby shower but that doesn't mean my friends and family can't.

See? I'm always thinking of others.

Blogger hungry!

Last night I tried to post something about how tired I was, because I haven't been so much sleeping lately as mostly just lying in bed with my eyes closed thinking about how tired I am. And I don't think that counts as sleep. Anyway. I ended up just going to bed because Blogger ate my post. Sometimes I think of Blogger as that really fat toddler that used to be on Maury Povich wearing just a diaper. It's entertaining for a while, but then you realize how much time you've wasted.

the future Mrs. Ball Boy

Ok, so I was thinking about tennis this morning (I don't know why) and I'm fairly certain that if I ever went to like a tennis open or something and I like bumped into one of the players I'd totally embarrass myself by not knowing who they were and saying something along the lines of "watch where you're going, douchebag," to them. Even if it was Andy Roddick, because he'd probably be wearing a hat and there's no doubt that he's taller than me and, being as short as I am, I tend to be looking at people's chests or necks, POSSIBLY chins, so it's doubtful I'd look at the person's face. And don't try to tell me it's antisocial to not look people in the face, tall people, because how many times have you tripped over a short person because you didn't know they were there? Honestly.

Anyway, then I started thinking that if that happened in a movie, say a romantic comedy, you know these two (Andy Roddick and myself, in this example) would end up falling in love by the end. I wouldn't know who he was, and since he's a big, famous, tennis star he'd think "hey great, this girl will like me for who I am," and he'll pretend to be a ball boy. Then, like halfway through the movie I'll find out who he really is (like, say when he tells me his last name) and become overwhelmed by all the photographers that follow him around asking me why I think I'm better than Mandy Moore and taking pictures of me when I leave the house wearing no makeup and wearing a bathrobe. Not that I do this on a regular basis, but this IS a romantic comedy so something has to happen to embarrass the heroine, like in Two Weeks Notice when Sandra Bullock gets drunk in front of Hugh Grant, or like in Bridget Jones's Diary* when Bridget does, well, anything.

So, all of this unwanted publicity will make me never want to see Andy ever again and I'll move across the country to teach underprivileged children or something. A few months will pass and then I'll walk by a tennis court in the ghetto or something and see Andy being the ball boy/coach for some poor, little, homeless kids who got their tennis rackets out of the dumpster behind the local country club. Then I will run to him, get tangled in the net, and we'll all laugh and live happily ever after.

The name of this movie? So glad you asked . . . Ball Boy. I think I'd better start the screenplay now before someone steals the idea.

*Please don't think I'm bashing Bridget Jones's Diary in any way. I would never do such a thing to one of my favorite movies, especially when it stars Colin Firth.

stream of nonsense

I'm at work. I think I've exhausted all of my forms of time-wasting. I get to leave in an hour. I think I'll take a walk when I get home. Maybe after dinner. I'm so gonna do it, though. I will NOT let myself go home, change into pajamas (no need for that, I'm already wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt; thank god the for the office being closed), turn on the TV and watch reruns of Will & Grace and Friends all night. Crap, phone is ringing.

Ok, line one keeps ringing, and when I answer the phone THERE'S NO ONE THERE. Not even one of those heavy-breathers. It's like the phone line gets bored and thinks, "Hmm, I will make the phone ring in this office because I bet the person there is bored." And, while the phone line would be correct, the person in this office IS bored, I'd much rather try to alleviate my boredom with e-mail and Craigslist than phantom phone calls.

I'm going apartment hunting on Saturday. I'm veeeeeeery excited, as evidenced by all the e's in the previous very. I have a list of apartments to hit up, I have a list of questions to ask, I'm freaking ready to sign a lease. Just hand me a pen. Or a pencil. Hell, I'll sign in blood if that's what they want.

I'm so excited about this whole moving out thing that I'm not even too picky about what I want the apartment to have. Yes, I'd like the complex to have a pool, but it's not necessary. I'd only be able to use it for three months of the year, at best. I'd like air conditioning, but I can live without it. I'd rather not, but I could. I'm not planning on getting a pet. As much as I'd love to get a puppy, I don't want to be tied down with anything in case I want to up and go to, say, Chicago for the weekend. I can leave Fish alone all weekend and he'll probably still be alive. I mean, if I haven't killed him yet I don't think anything will. Some of the apartments I'm looking at are studios. I'm interested to see those just to see if I'd be able to live in one. I don't even care if the apartment is tiny as long as it's MINE.

White Pants Waiver

My office has been closed since last Wednesday and since I've been the only one here I haven't had to worry about wearing the standard white pants and uniform shirt (thank god). Because of the White Pants Reprieve, I can wear whatever I want. I've noticed that each day I get a little sloppier.

Last Wednesday: Jeans, tennis shoes, nice shirt, regular bra

Last Thursday: Capris, t-shirt, sandals, regular bra

Last Friday: Black yoga pants, tennis shoes, t-shirt, regular bra

Today: Grey sweatpants, tennis shoes, t-shirt, sports bra (stretchy goodness)

So far, I've showered before work every day, but there's still one day of "vacation" left. I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow I show up unwashed and still in my pajamas.

Lawyers? A little help, please

My uterus and I are fighting. I don't think we're friends anymore. In fact, I'm thinking of suing it. I think it should have to pay for the pain and suffering it puts me through every month. And it should have to also pay my Midol and craving expenses.

I wonder if my ovaries can be witnesses.