what the smurf?

Since SOMEONE won't update their blog and give me something to do (I mean besides WORK because I am very busy and important) I guess I'll have to amuse myself.

So, I unintentionally dressed like a smurf today. The office is closed so I am allowed to wear whatever I want and for some reason, today I chose a) dark blue jeans, b) a turquoise shirt, c) blue flip flops, and d) a light and dark blue purse. So I look like a smurf. Because I'm also short. Is looking like a smurf better than looking like Dora? I can't decide. At least I don't have a funny, white hat. Or know anyone named Gargamel. What was the cat's name? I don't remember and I am too lazy to Google it, so please provide me with this useless piece of knowledge. Wait, was it Azrael? Why do I know that? What did I have to forget to make room in my brain for that?

When I was housesitting, I used the cell phone my aunt and uncle had left at home as my alarm. Because I couldn't figure out how to use their alarm clock. Shut up. Also, I didn't want to use my phone because it is unreliable and the battery is about to die and I refuse to pay $40 for a new one when I'm eligible for a new phone next month anyway. One of the ringers on their phone was the Smurf theme song. I mean, it didn't say "Smurf theme song" in the phone because that would be weird, right? And probably some kind of copyright violation and you do NOT want the Smurf mafia coming after you. They have sharp teeth. Or so I'm told. ANYWAY, this particular ringer was labeled "tra la la." That's right. Tra la la. Because "tra la la la la la, la la la la la" probably wouldn't fit. That's what I used as the alarm ringer. I highly recommend it. You cannot be in a bad mood, no matter how tired and grumpy you are, when you wake up to the Smurf song. No wonder those little bastards were always so happy. Except Grouchy. That grumpy asshole always ruined everyone's fun.

When I was younger, just a tiny, pigtailed girl of seven (I made that up, I don't remember how old I was), my uncle repainted my aunt's car. Some of the blue paint splattered on the driveway and my uncle told me he'd stepped on a smurf. And while I totally believed him and was kind of upset that a cartoon character had met its unfortunate demise on my grandma's driveway, I couldn't help but be fascinated that WOW even smurf BLOOD is blue.

PS: I did not intend to write this much about Smurfs today, but there you go.

Remember when you were a kid and your Mom would drop you off at the movies with a jar of jam and a little spoon?

The coffee I'm drinking tastes weird. I'm still housesitting. I'm not fully convinced the coffee hasn't been here since my great-grandparents moved in. And that was . . . family? A little help here?

That's the bad thing about pet/housesitting. I don't know where anything is and my normal food staples are not everyone else's staples. Like the other night? I was having pizza. And I tore the cabinets apart looking for Tabasco sauce. I couldn't find any and I almost cried. Seriously, what self-respecting person (especially in my family) does not have at least one bottle of hot sauce in their house.

I went swimming yesterday because it was 90 degrees and sunny and I couldn't justify sitting in the air conditioning all day long watching movies. When I got to the pool, Heidi and her boyfriend were already there. After about five minutes of us acting like idiots, and very loud idiots at that, in the pool, the one other occupant grabbed her baby and left. No, I'm not counting the baby as an occupant, it just sits there in its stroller pooping and drooling and eating and making it unacceptable for me to say things like penis and shit and douchebag and THAT'S NOT FAIR.

Anyway. So they left. Which is good, because Nick spent the next twenty minutes alternating between trying to drown Heidi, diving under the water, and wandering around the pool in front of the windows that look into the clubhouse . . . all with half of his ass hanging out. On purpose. I have been scarred for life. Seriously, the last thing I expected to hear at the pool yesterday was my roommate screaming, "Nick, put your ass away!"

After two hours at the pool, I did not get sunburnt (yeah! take that, SUN, you bastard!) but my body did explode with freckles. Because I am normally the whitest girl in the history of white girldom, I already have a lot of freckles, but the sun acts like some kind of freckle aphrodisiac and causes them to get all up on each other and multiply*. Yes, I did just say "get all up on each other" in regards to my freckles and no, I am not ashamed and neither are my freckles.

*Seriously. I even got some on my EARS. And eyelids. If I could put my hair in pigtails I'd look like a fucking five year old.

Why I should not be allowed to operate a cell phone NOT EVEN when sober

Dear Internets, if you give me your phone number, YOU TOO could be on the receiving end of voicemails like this one, just an example of the voicemails I leave (sober) for my friends weekly. OK, daily.

Me: Heeeeeey [friend] it's me. Just driving home from work. I was bored so I left early. I hate my job. Although, where else can I sit and surf the internet for hours on end? Except at home. But no one pays me to surf the internet at home. Wouldn't it be awesome if they did? Anyway, I'm on my way to that house I'm housesitting? For my aunt and uncle? I had to go to Kroger because they only had like . . . rice-a-roni to eat and as much as I like cheesy rice I cannot survive on rice-a-roni alone, you know? YOU know. So I might get a pizza. And a bottle of wine. Because nothing says "alcoholic" like a person sitting at home in her pajamas drinking alone. Isn't drinking alone a sign of alcoholism? That is such bullshit. I think since it's only one sign, you're OK, it's once you start showing like . . . six signs of alcoholism that you're in trouble. I'm going to walk the dog today, too, cause it's actually not raining. My aunt said a cute, single guy just moved in next door but I haven't seen him yet. Then she told me she told him about me and I was like, thanks Aunt Patty, I know you all think I'm pathetic and need to be set up with random people you meet on the street. I appreciate it. I really do. No, I'm not a lesbian. Did I tell you about that? Anyway. Uuuuuuuummmmm. Yeah. Oh, so this dog at the house I'm housesitting? He's not fixed, so sometimes he gets . . . excited. I have yet to see the lipstick but I've heard the end result is not pretty. Every time I see his head go in the ballular direction I clap my hands and say, "Hey! Stop pleasuring yourself!" and then he looks up at me all guilty and I kind of feel bad. I wonder when this message is going to cut me off. Maybe soon. I'll just keep talking. Hey, did you hear that --*

Voicemail lady: You have exceeded the maximum time permitted. To send your message with normal delivery, press 1. To listen to your message, press 2. To erase your message and rerecord, press 3. **

*This is not an exaggeration. I'm half tempted to record myself just to prove it.
**I have heard this so many times that I have it memorized.

If I have to pick a Wilson, I'm gonna go with Luke every time

My roommate and I have been discussing last night's episode of Big Brother through e-mail all morning. I'd share some of our discussion, but I don't want to implicate either of us should our bosses stumble across this blog.

Animal crackers and coffee really do make the best breakfast ever.

I think I'm going to grow my hair long again. It hasn't been long since sophomore year of college and I really need a project. You know, a project that will require little to no effort on my part because my hair will grow whether I do anything or not. Also, I'm tired of not being able to pull my hair into a ponytail and waking up in the morning looking like the brunette version of Einstein. Sans mustache, of course.

My friend Amy told me about a book a while ago called The Year of Yes, about this woman who decides that she's going to accept dates from anyone who asks her. I haven't read it yet because a) I couldn't find it at Half-Price Books and I refuse to pay full price for books anymore because THAT IS CRAZY TALK and b) I can't get any more books from the library until I pay my fine because librarians are strict bitches. But I already love it. Even though I haven't read it. I know that sounds insane, but deal with it. It's an intriguing project and one I'd be willing to duplicate if, you know, anyone was actually asking. And responses to the fake Craigslist ads my friends and I post don't count.

I just ate three monkeys

I'm eating animal crackers right now. Unfortunately, I'm eating them out of a bag and not out of that cute little box that looks like a circus train car, complete with the thin, white strap on top; the box my sister and I used to get at the grocery store when we were little . . . no doubt to shut us up and that later, once all the animals had been consumed, would be used as a purse.

A lot of mistakes have been made in Iraq . . . DUH*

Today around 12:30 I wondered why I was so shaky and dizzy and then I realized that I'd been up since 5:30 and the only things I'd consumed were a granola bar and about 87 cups of coffee. So then I had lunch and I felt better. Good story, huh?

I'm housesitting/dogsitting this week. The dog's name is Deefer. I don't know if that's how they spell it. Deefer. As in "Dee fer dog," get it? Wow. My family is pretty creative when it comes to animal names, as evidenced by my grandparents naming their pug, "Pug," me naming my fish, "Fish," (he died by the way . . . save the condolences, it happened like six months ago), and me calling my cat, "Kitty" despite her having an actual full name, which is Phoebe Princess Consuela Bananahammock Buffay.

I don't know where I'm going with this. OBVIOUSLY. Back during 4th of July weekend, my friend Mary was visiting. And that one Monday where a lot of people had to work . . . we didn't, so we had a couple hours to fill before everyone could come home from work and get drunk with us. We filled part of that time by posting fake ads on Craigslist in the Dayton women for men section. You can probably find it if you look hard enough, it's pretty special. We even made up a fake e-mail address for it so I could distinguish the responses from all the other e-mails I get from male admirers because let me tell you, there are A LOT**. Anyway. Long story short (will that ever get old, hahaha, I think everyone will agree that yes, it will and yes, it has), there are a lot of perverts in Dayton. At least 23 of them (yes, I still have the responses and Mary and Heidi and I may or may not have continued responding to some of them until they got, well, too creepy). Of course, Mary and I already knew there were a lot of perverts in Dayton from the time we called Live Links and I said this in my message, "Hi, my name's Shaniqua. I live in my car because I got kicked out of my house for doing drugs. I'm tired of sleeping in my car because it's cold outside, YO" complete with the most ghetto fabulous voice I could muster. Which, by the way, is not very ghetto fabulous at all.

*John McCain, The Daily Show

**rumors of my admirers have been greatly exaggerated

I'll do pretty much anything if you ask nicely enough

Because Kat asked me to and yes, I do know why.

Grub-ology:

What is your salad dressing of choice? Italian or Ranch but really I don't each much salad. My roommate and I buy it and then it goes bad and we throw it away.

What is your favorite fast food restaurant? Wendy's. It cures hangovers, I SWEAR

What is your favorite sit down restaurant? Chile's. Not really, I just like to go there and say, " I feel god in the Chile's." Yeah, I have problems, I know.

On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant? I'd say 20%. As long as there are no foreign objects in my food and they don't spill anything on me, I leave a fairly good tip.

What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of? Cheesecake. And mashed potatoes. But not together.

Name three foods you detest above all others. Brussel sprouts, lima beans, spinach and yes I know those are all vegetables.

What is your favorite dish to order in a Chinese restaurant? I don't care, as long as I get to eat with chopsticks.

What are your pizza toppings of choice? Pepperoni and onions . . . pineapple if I'm feeling adventurous

What do you like to put on your toast? Peanut butter and jelly

What is your favorite type of gum? Extra wintergreen

Tech-ology:

Number of contacts in your cell phone? Eighty something I think

Number of contacts in your e-mail address book? Seriously? I have no idea

What is your wallpaper on your computer? Heh, John Krasinski

What is your screensaver on your computer? I don't have one, the monitor just turns off after a while

Are there naked pictures saved on your computer? Not that I know of

How many land line phones do you have in your house? Just one

How many televisions are in your house? Just three. Four if you count the one that doesn't really work that I shoved in the storage closet.

What kitchen appliance do you use the least? The stove

What is the format of the radio station you listen to the most? I hate the radio

Bi-ology:

What do you consider to be your best physical attribute? Eyes. Well. My left one, maybe.

Are you right handed or left handed? Right

Do you like your smile? I guess, I've never really thought about it

Have you ever had anything removed from your body? Just teeth

Would you like to? Certain parts of my brain

Do you prefer to read when you go to the bathroom? Only if I'm brushing my teeth

Which of your five senses do you think is keenest? Smell, unfortunately

When was the last time you had a cavity? Never, which means I will develop one in the next five minutes

What is the heaviest item you lift regularly? a bottle of water

Have you ever been knocked unconscious? Only one possible time that I'm aware of, but I was drunk so I really don't remember

Misc-ology:

If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die? Yes, so I know how long I have to procrastinate

If you could change your first name, what would you change it to? Shaniqua

How do you express your artistic side? I write in here. OH, and I drink.

What color do you think you look best in? Black

How long do you think you could last in a medium security prison? Forever. I will totally make everyone my bitch.

Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake? Not to my knowledge.

If we weren't bound by society's conventions, do you have a relative you would make a pass at? There are so many things wrong with this question, I don't even know where to start. Short answer, "HELL NO."

How often do you go to church? I try not to make it a habit.

Have you ever saved someone's life? I don't think so.

Has someone ever saved yours? Yes

Dare-ology:

For this last section, if you would do it for less or more money, indicate how much.

Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000? God no

Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100? At this point, I'd kiss a member of any sex for $5. So yes. Although, I probably shouldn't encourage the rumors.

Would you have sex with a member of the same sex for $10,000? No, because I've always told myself that prostitution is where I'd draw the line. I don't know what line. I just made that up.

Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000? No! Ok, yes. I can buy new wooden fingers like Gwyneth Paltrow had in The Royal Tenenbaums and still have A LOT left over.

Would you never blog again for $50,000? Is someone offering, because that would be amazing

Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000? God no

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? I totally would and actually would probably do it for less

Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000? That depends, do I get to pick what human life? Haha, I'm totally kidding. Murder is hilarious.

Would you shave your head and get your entire body waxed for $5,000? Yes and, again, I'd probably do it for less.

Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000? If someone would tape Grey's Anatomy and The Office for me.

I knew my family thought I was a lesbian*

Grandma: You should come visit me** . . . you can bring your girlfriend.
Me: My what?
Grandma: The girl you live with.
Me: My roommate, Grandma. If you call her my girlfriend that sounds like something else entirely.
Family Member: Yeah, that's how rumors get started.

*I'm not, though, I just seem to repel the opposite sex
**No one but grandmas can inject so much guilt into one sentence

Handbook for the Common-Sensically Challenged

Yesterday was not a pleasant day. Between car drama and other drama . . . yeah, I didn't sleep so well last night. I'm waiting for my car to be finished right now. It ended up costing a lot more than I thought it would. A LOT MORE. I am now accepting donations. For the charity I just made up. It's for people like me with no common sense. You can't teach that. Which is why we need charity.

I seriously don't know how many times I'll have to make the same basic mistakes, all stemming from my good friend Procrastination, before I'll learn. I told my dad last night that I should have gotten some sort of handbook after college; something to tell me how I'm supposed to do things so I don't have to make mistakes. Expensive mistakes. I think my handbook got lost in the mail, though, so can I borrow someone's? Just be forewarned, you probably won't get it back.

my mom gets more comments than I do

Every morning I play this game where I see how many times I can hit the snooze button and still have time to get ready and be on time to work. I lose if I have to skip an important step, like showering or, most important, making coffee. I'll make coffee before I do anything else, even if it means arriving at work looking like an unwashed miscreant that has wandered in from the gutter.

I totally won today, because I hit the snooze button three times and yet I still had time to shower, brush my teeth, SHAVE MY LEGS*, dry my hair, pick out an outfit (because it's the one day a week I don't have to wear scrubs, thank you very much), listen to my new favorite song (on Corinne Bailey Rae's CD, seriously . . . go buy it), AND of course, make coffee. And I don't know if this counts, because technically I did it on the WAY to work rather than before work, but I called two car-fixey places (WOW) and made an appointment to get my brakes looked at this afternoon. Which is good. Because the brake system I have now, which basically consists of stepping on the pedal, crossing my fingers, closing my eyes and praying to God that my car stops without the aid of the car in front of me, is not the safest method.

*Women (men?), you understand how much time this can add to your morning routine, especially if you're really tired because tired means distracted and distracted leads to owie blood where are the bandaids?!?

So THAT'S what I'll look like at 46* . . . only shorter

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!

*Sorry I just announced your age to the entire Internets. Don't worry, they're very accepting

I'm afraid I just . . . blue myself

So, in the two miles between my parent's house and my apartment I managed to get pulled over because I did TWO, not one, but TWO things wrong. It was stuff I know I technically should not be doing, especially not with a cop behind me, but did I listen to that little voice in my head? Um, hi, have we met? I'm Jennie. I make bad decisions.

Anyway. I didn't get a ticket or anything. Kindly Officer Flustered (seriously, I think I was the first person he ever pulled over . . . his face was all red and he almost dropped my license on the ground . . . the dirty, dirty, ground!) just told me that I had pulled too far into the pedestrian crossing at the red light and that when turning left I should turn DIRECTLY into the left lane instead of doing what I did, which was go directly to the right lane. Whatever. I almost asked him if he was really bored, because why else would he be pulling me over for doing something that people do every five seconds. But I didn't. Because he had already told me he wasn't going to give me a ticket. For once, my brain worked faster than my mouth. Seriously, though, if I was a cop and it was this hot out and I had to wear a long-sleeved POLYESTER UNIFORM, even if I saw someone in a Hummer flatten a kid on a tricycle as well as a family of ducks I'd just say fuck it and stay in my air conditioned car. But that's probably why I'm not a cop.

Afterward, I called my mom and she asked me, and I quote, "did you bat your baby blues at him?" No, mother, I did not and I cannot believe you'd suggest such a thing. I also did not flash him or offer him money or sexual favors. He wasn't that cute. Ha! I kid, I kid. My reaction this time was a lot different than the first time I ever got pulled over. I was 17 and I pulled to the side of the road and burst into tears. And did it get me out of a ticket? No, it did not.

I think my body must hate me. It is getting revenge for all of those mornings it has woken up with a headache and an acidy stomach and a mouth tasting of day old tequila. Why else would it have chosen the hottest week of the summer to give me BLINDINGLY PAINFUL cramps? Damn you, uterus.

Last night I practically died while watching The Daily Show. I should know better than to eat during that show. I choked on my pasta during a particularly funny bit but look at the bright side. At least I would have died laughing.

I'm a businesswoman in town on business.

Today on the way home from work, a cop drove by me and he looked exactly like Mr. Julian Sark. From Alias. Duh. Try and keep up, people. And by the time he'd turned the corner and I could no longer see him in my rearview mirror I had already created an elaborate story that involved Sark, Sydney Bristow, a fake Swedish accent, Michael Vartan and a wet shirt, a stolen police car and uniform, and a device that IF UNLEASHED could annihilate the entire world. Oh, and Jack Bristow and a headset were there, too because you cannot have a successful spy mission without Jack Bristow and his headset. And this is why I need to stop watching TV altogether.

Speaking of TV, who is watching Big Brother? Don't lie. I know you are. I love Howie's mancrush on Dr. Will. They are heterosexual life partners. But Kaysar. Oh, Kaysar. You're so pretty. But you're so stupid. It's OK, though, I'll still love you even when you get voted out next week.

I totally forgot to say anything, mainly because I had forgotten myself until my roommate reminded me earlier, but we were in a car accident this weekend. Not a bad one. It was in her car, which is good because I think my car would fall apart if someone looked at it the wrong way. A guy came out from a sidestreet on our right and as Heidi drove by he scraped the shit out of her car. It could have been a lot worse, though, because Heidi saw him pulling out and she swerved to the left so we didn't hit him head on. I've never had the pleasure of having an airbag explode in my face, but I can't imagine it's something I want to experience. Luckily, the guy who hit us was really nice. Even luckier? The fact that Heidi was driving, because I was hungover and not wearing my contacts or glasses. She hadn't had anything to drink the night before so she had reflexes like a CAT. Meow! Right now, she's out of town on business, so for the next couple of days I'm responsible for not setting the apartment on fire or getting us evicted. Wish me luck.

In the wild, there is no health care. In the wild, health care is, "Ow, I hurt my leg. I can't run. A lion eats me and I'm dead."

Oh why is it so hot outside? So hot. It makes me want to die. I got in the car yesterday and it was all, "Bitch, you are crazy . . . go back inside!" Whatever CAR, what am I supposed to do? WALK to the store? I would die.

The baseball game on Friday wasn't so bad because once it got dark it wasn't too hot. Ok, that's a lie, it was still pretty hot, but I had beer and a hot dog so I didn't care. Although, in hindsight, it would have been smarter to have more than a hot dog and a handful of peanuts for dinner. THE MORE YOU KNOW. Anyway, the Reds won, and did you know they shoot off FIREWORKS when the Reds win? That was the best part of the game.

My roommate and I went swimming on Saturday, because it was, again, really hot outside and what else are you supposed to do? Apparently I fell asleep (or passed out from heat exhaustion) at one point and was snoring. Not loudly, but still. Snoring at the pool. So pretty.

That night we went to Young's Dairy Farm to get dinner and go putt-putting for my roommate's mom's birthday. I did not wear appropriate shoes. I don't know what I was thinking but I was definitely THAT girl that you see and think, "why did she wear those shoes to go putt-putting?" Anyway. I came in second to last, only eight strokes ahead of Heidi's eight-year-old cousin, Aaron. Although, I didn't hit myself in the head with my golf ball this time, so that's a step in the right direction. I rule!

Look at me! I'm Chandler! Could I BE wearing any more clothes?

When I woke up today my pillow smelled like chlorine. Not an entirely unpleasant smell, and a result of going to bed with wet hair after a (legal this time) nightswim.

Last night, after dinner and drinks with my coworkers, my roommate and I escaped the heat and the air that, let's face it, is practically water at this point and went swimming. Even though both Big Brother and Project Runway were beckoning from TiVo, we managed to resist. The water was surprisingly cold but we stayed in until the goosebumps drove us to our towels.

I feel better today than I have in a while. The general malaise that has been settled over me for the past couple of months seems to have finally lifted. At least for the moment. And I plan to take advantage of it while I can.

Which is why, even though it's hotter than hell outside and my face might MELT RIGHT OFF, I'm going to a Reds game tonight. Here is what I know about baseball: They sell beer and hot dogs at the stadium. Also, during the 7th inning you are encouraged to stand up and . . . stretch, if you will. This is a good time to go look for more beer and hot dogs. Apparently there is also some sort of game being played but if you have a beer and a hot dog it's not really important.

I am Queen Loser of Loserville, all bow to me!

I found out today that I didn't win that short story contest I entered. I didn't come in second place, either. Or third. Which means I placed somewhere between fourth and seventh.

I read the winning stories earlier, and as much as I'd like to get all defensive and belligerent about how "my story was better, dammit, I call SHENANIGANS!" I really can't. Mostly because the stories were probably better than mine but partly because I don't even really remember which stories I submitted. Which probably also means I didn't take it as seriously as I should have GO FIGURE and ALSO I probably should have submitted something newly written, rather than something I wrote in college and half-assedly revised. But now it sounds like I'm making excuses for not winning. BECAUSE I AM. This entry is brought to you by CAPS LOCK, by the way.

Part of me wants to be all, "oh, whatever, it's just a stupid contest, in DAYTON of all places," but another part of me thinks that if I can't even win a measly little newspaper contest in Ohio then who the hell am I kidding? I might as well give up RIGHT NOW but the thought of not having this particular goal in life makes me really, really sad. I mean LOW. Worse than I feel when I think about my crappy job, my bank account, my poor, dying car, or my nonexistent love life.

SO. That said, I prefer to think positively, learn from this, and own the rejection.

Chlorophyll?! More like BOREophyll!

Last night, my roommate and I got a little carried away at the grocery store. But we had excuses! We hadn't gone grocery shopping in a long time. A long time! Like a month! And we were out of food! Except for hot dogs! But you can't survive on hot dogs! Well, you can! But it's unhealthy!

Um, yeah, anyway. So last night, armed with a list, our coupons (shut it) and a Kroger Plus Card, we went to the grocery. And oh what a magical time it was. Ok, not really. BUT. Somehow between the two of us, we filled up an entire cart. Like, it was almost overflowing. We were THOSE people that you see in line and you don't get behind them because of how much shit they have in their cart. You will see why the cart was about to topple over from exhaustion later. I guess I could tell you now, but I don't feel like it. But let's be honest, I'll probably forget later. Basically, we bought a lot of food. Good story, right? And when the total came to $107.17 I almost pooped myself (in a good way) and when I saw we saved almost $50 because we clip coupons like old ladies I almost pooped myself again (in an even better way).

While we were in the cereal aisle, a little girl, maybe 2 or 3, saw some box with Nemo on it and she spent at least five minutes standing there and pointing and shouting, "Memo! [aside: that is pronounced "MEEmo, not mem-o"; also yes, I know I'm a tool THANKS] MEMO! I FOUND MEMO! MEMO!" It was like she was stuck. And needed to be kicked. Neither Heidi nor I kicked her, though, because we still had a lot of grocery shopping to do and didn't want to be thrown out of this particular Kroger because it's like five minutes from our apartment.

And now, because I'm lazy and don't feel like telling the rest of the story, as if a trip to the grocery could be classified a story . . . Conversations with my Roommate:

Me: We never found Snack Packs.
Heidi: We must find them!
Me: Where are they?
Heidi: The baking stuff aisle?
Me: Um, I don't see them.
Heidi: Here they are!
Me: Yes! Gimme my snack pack!
Heidi: They only have the chocolate flavor.
Me: Who cares, they are delicious. Hey, how many should we get?
Heidi: I don't know. Remember how last time they didn't have any and we were without snack packs for a whole month?
Me: Yeah. It was horrible. How about four packs?
Heidi: . . .
Me: . . .
Heidi: Better throw in some more.
Me: Good call. They ARE 10 for $10.

And that is why, at this very moment, our apartment is home to 40 cups of chocolate pudding. Yes, it is EXCESSIVE but that is the American way.

She's not THAT Mexican, Mom, she's MY Mexican. And she's Colombian or something.

My roommate has been gone all weekend and, thus proving that when she is not here I turn into a scary hermit type person, I have not had much communication with the outside world. Although, after so many hectic weekends (and by hectic I mean drink-heavy) lately, it's been nice to sit around and do nothing.

Here is what I have done: Laundry. Watched TV. Surfed the Internets. Um. That's about it.

In the past two days, I have watched one episode of Grey's Anatomy, two episodes of Bridezillas, one episode of House, a really bad Lifetime Movie, The Philadelphia Story, three episodes of Arrested Development*, and one episode of The Office. Today my only plan is to go see Pirates of the Caribbean. Did you ever notice that with the change of just one letter, "pirates" becomes "pilates?" I'll let you figure out which letter that is. And now you are thinking about pirates doing pilates. YOU'RE WELCOME.

I sat out on the balcony for a while last night, staring across the parking lot and the pond at the softly lit pool and thinking how nice a night swim would be. But sneaking into the pool does not seem like an idea that should be repeated, even though we didn't leave any remnants of our last night swim behind. No beer cans, no towels, no lone flip flop floating all forlornly in the deep end. It would seem like tempting fate to attempt it again. That, and this time I'd be alone and I'd be so paranoid about knocking myself unconscious and drowning that I'd never try it. I really don't want to die in a swimsuit.

*PS, did you guys know that Will Arnett aka GOB was nominated for an Emmy? How does a show good enough to get nominated for an Emmy get cancelled, FOX? I swear to GOB.

I am woman, hear me roar . . . roar

The other night, I put antifreeze in my car ALL BY MYSELF. Usually, I have to take it over to my parent's house so my dad can help me get the cap off because it's on really tight and I don't like to get my soft, unblemished, girly hands dirty. But Thursday night Big Brother was on (shut up, and I hope you're prepared to hear about THAT for the rest of the summer) and I was too tired (read: lazy) to drive the two minutes toward parental help. So I went downstairs myself, popped the hood, and used a dishtowel to help remove the cap. WITHOUT horribly scalding my face and arms, which is what my manual says might happen . . . and why the hell do we drive these stinking death traps that can kill you in a myriad of horrible, disfiguring ways, I'd like to know.

Anyway, I'm sure I provided my neighbors with quite the spectacle, down there in my pink, cow pajama pants, stumbling around my car with a bottle of antifreeze. Now I'm really paranoid that I have the antifreeze in the closet downstairs and that somehow phoebe will get into it. One time on Animal Planet, I saw a cat who had gotten into some antifreeze and they kept calling it "drunk kitty" because, you know, it did stumble around all willy-nilly in crooked lines and running into things but then IT DIED and it was sad and I cried. This is why I don't watch Animal Planet. The end.

Also, I'm trying this new thing where I don't speed as much. And when I say don't speed, I mean I go five over the speed limit instead of ten. Everyone knows five over doesn't count. I'm doing this to save money, because apparently driving faster over like 60 mph costs you more money in gas and also speeding tickets? Not free. This was all well and good yesterday on the way to work. I was all happy and content because hey! It's Friday! And also I discovered that I still know all the words to Shoop by Salt n Peppa (thank you Q102 for the reminder), and I was driving to work during non-rush hour so everyone was still driving like a sane person.

But on the way home from work I almost got in three accidents. The first one? Some teenage bitch who probably just got her license cut across two lanes of traffic to swerve into the left lane, right in front of me, and then STOPPED to turn into the movie theater. I actually considered pulling in behind her so I could . . . I don't know, yell? But I thought that might lead to me ending up in prison for killing someone with my bare hands. The rest of the drive home actually led me to think, "I hope you crash and die!" several times and actually mean it, which means if I actually still had my pass to get into heaven, it would have been revoked yesterday. So, yeah, I was in a pretty bad mood the whole way home and not even the brief appearance by giant, touchdown Jesus could calm me. And if Jesus can't calm you down, I'm sorry, but you're screwed.

PS: If you have never seen the beauty and wonder of all that is GIANT TOUCHDOWN JESUS, then you need to come to visit me in Ohio and I will show you. You really haven't lived until you've seen him in person.

It's like a cow's opinion. It just doesn't matter. It's moo.

You know what happens when Brando links to your blog? Your traffic goes up from tens to . . . higher tens. This is one of those instances where it sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm really not.

So, every now and then I go through these stages of not really sleeping. I try, I really do, but I end up lying there on my back, staring at the ceiling and counting how many hours of sleep I can still get if I FALL ASLEEP RIGHT NOW. Every night as I climb into bed, I think, "Ok . . . I'm really tired so tonight is the night I'll sleep all the way through," but so far this week, it hasn't so much happened. Monday night was my own stupidity what with the swimming and the staying up all night and the three hours sleep, a result of my friends and I being bad influences on each other. I thought that Tuesday night I'd easily fall asleep, but the knowledge that I had to be up at 5:30 the next morning weighed heavily on my mind. Wednesday night it was too hot in my room. Last night, someone called at midnight looking for Lindsey and I don't even know a Lindsey and after that I was plagued by Phoebe sticking her cold, cold nose onto my cheek every fifteen minutes. No, Cat, I do not want to play right now it is 4 AM GO AWAY. So. All of that is why I have been babbling about my sleeping habits for the past paragraph. Sorry.

Yawn.

you can't put a price on fun, except I totally just did

Beach Towel: Ten dollars

Swimsuit: Thirty dollars

Flip flops: Ten dollars

Miller Lite: Twelve dollars

Bandaids to cover the cuts and bruises from scaling a fence: Two dollars

Swimming at 4 AM and then watching the sunrise: Priceless

Yeah. It's been a good weekend.

You've been mostly dead all day

I just wanted to assure everyone that I did not, in fact, get eaten by a coyote. I think I am safe for the rest of the holiday. Although, we are having people over to our place today so I should probably be careful around the balcony.

Also, I feel really bad for all of you who had to go into work today. Seriously.

Happy 4th (ok 3rd) of July . . . in honor of our country, today I will eat hot dogs and drink beer. Cold beer! And hot . . . hot dogs. Yeah. Good talk.

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.*

Right now I am only blogging because I just finished blowdrying my hair and I'm too hot to get dressed. I think I might pass out. Whoo, getting ready is HARD WORK.

I shouldn't be sitting here because I'm supposed to be getting ready for a long, difficult day of drinking. Out in the country. I hope I don't get lost and eaten by a coyote. If a week goes by and I still haven't posted anything, call the authorities. Except by then it will probably be too late. So. It was nice knowing you all. Really. I had a fantastic time.

Do you want to hear something weird? I totally had a dream about one of you listed on the right last night. I won't say who. I don't want everyone else to get jealous. You know what, though? It's really hard to dream of someone when you've never seen a clear picture of them. I mean, your face was total blur city. So, all of you without photos, please post one so my dreams can be more detailed. Thank you.

My sister spent the night last night. I'm pretty sure she thought Heidi and I led some crazy, exciting life but she saw us do what we normally do . . . sit around in our pajamas watching America's Next Top Model and playing the "kitty" game with Phoebe. The "kitty" game consists of Heidi and I saying "kitty" and then Phoebe meowing or making some other strange noise and this goes on for about twenty minutes. Basically until Heidi, Phoebe, or I get tired and lose interest. Phoebe usually loses interest first, so I'm not sure what that says about Heidi and me.

AND NOW, Conversations with My Roommate (with a Special Appearance by My Sister):

Mindy: Can I get on the internet?
Me: As long as you promise not to look up anything naughty.
Mindy: Can you bring up your blog? I want to read it.
Me: NO! Those are my SECRET, personal, private thoughts.
Heidi: That you share with the entire Internet?
Me: Well. Yes.

*By the way, I have decided that it is a lot easier to use movie/TV quotes as titles than to come up with my own. You know. In case you hadn't noticed after like a month and a half of The Office quotes.