I apologize for that last post. What the hell was I talking about? I don't even know. Jenny's head falling off? WTF?
I haven't really been sleeping lately so much as lying in bed staring at the ceiling wishing I was sleeping (I wish I had a dollar for every time I typed that sentence), so I'm fairly certain I wrote that entry in some sort of fugue state or waking nightmare or something. I don't know.
I don't think I should neglect to mention that, while I was not an official contestant in NaBloPoMo (aka NaNoHoMoMoFoToto), I DID, in fact, post every day this month. I feel this warrants some kind of prize, no? No? Fine. Today is the last day of November, right? IT IS! I win! The game is called I WIN!
I really think today might be the day I kill a patient with my BARE HANDS. I feel it in my bones. I've talked about killing people with my BARE HANDS in the last two posts, but don't worry. That's just what no sleep does to me. I promise I (probably) won't kill anyone, bare hands or otherwise.
I've been thinking about joining a gym. But it's expensive. And I have the feeling that I would be paying for the membership card and the benefit of saying, "hey, I belong to that gym, but I've never been there," as I drive past.
I actually addressed some Christmas cards last night! I put them in the envelopes and everything! Of course, I don't have any stamps and I'm still working on getting some addresses from my friends, because WHO KNEW that my system of writing people's addresses on little slips of paper and then using those slips of paper for coasters or bookmarks wasn't actually a good system? The more you know. In other news, maybe I should ask for an address book for Christmas. By the way, there is still plenty of time to get your own Christmas card.
Lalala, GUESS WHAT, friends? Tomorrow is Friday. Oh. Happy. Day.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
if you call me "Jen-nay" I get to kick you, hard, square in the nuts
There were times when I was younger that I really disliked my name. Mostly because I couldn't just be Jennie. I had to be Jennie B because there were usually several other Jennies in each of my classes. Jenny M, Jenny R, Jenny W. I guess Jenny W is worse than Jennie B because DAMN that is a lot of syllables.
In fourth grade, I changed the spelling of my name from "Jenny" to "Jennie." My teacher, I remember, thought I was just spelling my name wrong (come on, give me a little credit) until she asked me and I told her I'd changed it to make it more different. If I'd really been thinking, I'd have changed it to Gjhenee or Djenny (the D is silent).
The only time I ever absolutely hated my name was at daycare around Halloween. There were no other Jennies in the entire building, which you'd think would have been a welcome change, but NOT AT HALLOWEEN. That's when we read this book called In a Dark, Dark Room (or something) and in this book there is a story about a young girl named Jenny who marries a young man named Alfred and this young girl named Jenny always wears a green ribbon around her neck and Alfred, of course, won't shut the hell up about it and wants to know WHY she's always wearing a green ribbon around her neck because, let's face it, it's not exactly a flattering look and why did it have to be a green ribbon because pink or purple or blue would have been so much better. Even red! Ooh, actually red would have been pretty fitting. Anyway, so at the end of the story Jenny and Alfred have grown old together and she's never told him why she always wears a green ribbon and I can't remember if she gives him permission or if he just takes it upon himself to do it, but Alfred totally unties the green ribbon and . . . Jenny's head falls off.
Yeah, and so I hated when the teacher read that story aloud NOT because, you know, my head just fell off but because inevitably all I'd hear for the rest of the day were taunts of "Jenny and Alfred sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," and NOTHING is more humiliating to an eight-year-old than people thinking she might like a boy and even want to (gasp) kiss him. Cooties. Gross. I still maintain that boys have cooties, though. Anyway, luckily there was no little boy at the daycare named Alfred or I think we may have teamed up and taken out the rest of the class. I would have, too; I was a pretty diabolical little kid, it's lucky I didn't turn out to be a serial killer (yet). Ahem. So, yes, at that time of my life I hated my name with a fiery, red hot passion.
Oh, and also when Forrest Gump came out. Movie made my life a living hell, you don't even know.
In fourth grade, I changed the spelling of my name from "Jenny" to "Jennie." My teacher, I remember, thought I was just spelling my name wrong (come on, give me a little credit) until she asked me and I told her I'd changed it to make it more different. If I'd really been thinking, I'd have changed it to Gjhenee or Djenny (the D is silent).
The only time I ever absolutely hated my name was at daycare around Halloween. There were no other Jennies in the entire building, which you'd think would have been a welcome change, but NOT AT HALLOWEEN. That's when we read this book called In a Dark, Dark Room (or something) and in this book there is a story about a young girl named Jenny who marries a young man named Alfred and this young girl named Jenny always wears a green ribbon around her neck and Alfred, of course, won't shut the hell up about it and wants to know WHY she's always wearing a green ribbon around her neck because, let's face it, it's not exactly a flattering look and why did it have to be a green ribbon because pink or purple or blue would have been so much better. Even red! Ooh, actually red would have been pretty fitting. Anyway, so at the end of the story Jenny and Alfred have grown old together and she's never told him why she always wears a green ribbon and I can't remember if she gives him permission or if he just takes it upon himself to do it, but Alfred totally unties the green ribbon and . . . Jenny's head falls off.
Yeah, and so I hated when the teacher read that story aloud NOT because, you know, my head just fell off but because inevitably all I'd hear for the rest of the day were taunts of "Jenny and Alfred sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," and NOTHING is more humiliating to an eight-year-old than people thinking she might like a boy and even want to (gasp) kiss him. Cooties. Gross. I still maintain that boys have cooties, though. Anyway, luckily there was no little boy at the daycare named Alfred or I think we may have teamed up and taken out the rest of the class. I would have, too; I was a pretty diabolical little kid, it's lucky I didn't turn out to be a serial killer (yet). Ahem. So, yes, at that time of my life I hated my name with a fiery, red hot passion.
Oh, and also when Forrest Gump came out. Movie made my life a living hell, you don't even know.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
I’m always thinking one step ahead. Like a carpenter that makes stairs.
I think my car radio may be on the fritz. I realized this yesterday when I was on my way to work and the local radio station sounded off-and-on staticy.
This could be bad, because you see . . . my mood when I arrive at work depends mostly on if I hear songs I like on the way. If Justin brings the sexy back or John Mayer sings to me (what, it is to me) or I hear Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza, I'm gonna be in a good mood. If I have to hear Gwen Stefani butcher a song from a beloved movie or a get a goddamn Fergie song stuck in my head then I may try to kill someone with my BARE HANDS when I exit my car. Although, it sounds like a lot of effort to kill someone with my bare hands, so more than likely I'd just run them over with my car. See? Easy.
Lately, I've been in a pretty good mood when I get out of the car because they've started playing all Christmas music on 99.9. Which I like now, but give me another couple weeks and this will be the music that puts me in a murderous mood. But YOU try being in a bad mood when you hear the Hippo song! I promise you, it is impossible! My only complaint about this station is that they play the Josh Groban version of "O, Holy Night" and not the Cartman version. What the hell is that? Come on, let's get it together.
So, yes, I'm a little sad at this latest development with my car radio. You see, there is no CD player (I know) and when you try to play a cassette tape it sounds like The Chipmunks instead of Weezer/Barenaked Ladies/what have you. Which can be amusing for a couple of minutes but, trust me, gets old after your cousins make you play The Chipmunks Sing Blink 182 for half an hour.
Today my car radio seemed to be working fine, but when I almost drove off the road while singing and flailing myself around to "Proud Mary," I began to think that maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing if it stopped working completely.
This could be bad, because you see . . . my mood when I arrive at work depends mostly on if I hear songs I like on the way. If Justin brings the sexy back or John Mayer sings to me (what, it is to me) or I hear Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza, I'm gonna be in a good mood. If I have to hear Gwen Stefani butcher a song from a beloved movie or a get a goddamn Fergie song stuck in my head then I may try to kill someone with my BARE HANDS when I exit my car. Although, it sounds like a lot of effort to kill someone with my bare hands, so more than likely I'd just run them over with my car. See? Easy.
Lately, I've been in a pretty good mood when I get out of the car because they've started playing all Christmas music on 99.9. Which I like now, but give me another couple weeks and this will be the music that puts me in a murderous mood. But YOU try being in a bad mood when you hear the Hippo song! I promise you, it is impossible! My only complaint about this station is that they play the Josh Groban version of "O, Holy Night" and not the Cartman version. What the hell is that? Come on, let's get it together.
So, yes, I'm a little sad at this latest development with my car radio. You see, there is no CD player (I know) and when you try to play a cassette tape it sounds like The Chipmunks instead of Weezer/Barenaked Ladies/what have you. Which can be amusing for a couple of minutes but, trust me, gets old after your cousins make you play The Chipmunks Sing Blink 182 for half an hour.
Today my car radio seemed to be working fine, but when I almost drove off the road while singing and flailing myself around to "Proud Mary," I began to think that maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing if it stopped working completely.
Monday, November 27, 2006
all the lights are shining so brightly everywhere
Friday night, after a long hard day of . . . doing nothing, Heidi and I decided to walk up to The Greene to get some dinner and go to Victoria's Secret. Two things that, obviously, go hand in hand. The wait at Brio was quite long, so we took the flashy-lighty-up-vibraty-beepy thingie (seriously what is that thing?) over to Victoria's to stare at the panties and smell the lotions. Don't get those two mixed up or they'll look at you funny and probably ask you to leave.
After Heidi had purchased enough to get the Heidi Klum Face Bag With All The Free Shit Inside, and since it was unseasonably warm that night (but not unseasonably warm enough to warrant FLIP FLOPS, teenage girls with the stupid words on your stupid sweatpants on your stupid butt), we decided to sit on a bench outside the restaurant and People Watch. Luckily, we were right next to the courtyard with the giant Christmas tree so the people were ripe for the watching. We were watching small children chase each other while they waited in line for Santa, the horse-drawn carriages clip-clopping past, when I spotted a peculiar looking couple standing in the middle of the courtyard. The man was down on one knee. Odd, and I thought maybe he'd hurt himself until I saw the box in his hand.
"Hey look!" I exclaimed. "That guy is proposing!"
Heidi followed my pointed finger (rude, I know) and oohed and aahed with me.
"That is too cute," she said. "I might cry."
We worried that the couple might catch us, but luckily they were too engrossed in one another to take notice of two silly, giggling women sitting twenty feet away, one of whom was taking a picture with her camera phone. I'll let you guess which one that was.
And maybe it was the twinkly lights, or the fact that Santa was so nearby and I worried that he'd hear any naughty thoughts, but my Inner Bitch was actually quiet that night. Yes, the one that wishes there were No Children sections in restaurants. The one who routinely thinks "oh vomit" and sticks an imaginary finger down her throat at any couply sign of romance. That one. Completely silent. For probably the first time ever.
I'm definitely blaming Santa*.
*Just kidding, Santa! Hugs!
After Heidi had purchased enough to get the Heidi Klum Face Bag With All The Free Shit Inside, and since it was unseasonably warm that night (but not unseasonably warm enough to warrant FLIP FLOPS, teenage girls with the stupid words on your stupid sweatpants on your stupid butt), we decided to sit on a bench outside the restaurant and People Watch. Luckily, we were right next to the courtyard with the giant Christmas tree so the people were ripe for the watching. We were watching small children chase each other while they waited in line for Santa, the horse-drawn carriages clip-clopping past, when I spotted a peculiar looking couple standing in the middle of the courtyard. The man was down on one knee. Odd, and I thought maybe he'd hurt himself until I saw the box in his hand.
"Hey look!" I exclaimed. "That guy is proposing!"
Heidi followed my pointed finger (rude, I know) and oohed and aahed with me.
"That is too cute," she said. "I might cry."
We worried that the couple might catch us, but luckily they were too engrossed in one another to take notice of two silly, giggling women sitting twenty feet away, one of whom was taking a picture with her camera phone. I'll let you guess which one that was.
And maybe it was the twinkly lights, or the fact that Santa was so nearby and I worried that he'd hear any naughty thoughts, but my Inner Bitch was actually quiet that night. Yes, the one that wishes there were No Children sections in restaurants. The one who routinely thinks "oh vomit" and sticks an imaginary finger down her throat at any couply sign of romance. That one. Completely silent. For probably the first time ever.
I'm definitely blaming Santa*.
*Just kidding, Santa! Hugs!
Sunday, November 26, 2006
If there was a retarded Oscar you would win, hands down, kick his ass!
You know, I'm not really sure how conversations with my friends go from discussing Indian food to the physics and intricacies of pooping off the balcony, but I like it.
Also, last night we made Heidi's boyfriend watch Garden State, even though he had already expressed that he "would rather suffer from AIDS than watch that movie." A little extreme, I know, but if he would just admit that it's a good movie then we wouldn't have to keep bugging him about it.
I've been off work since Wednesday afternoon and I am finding it really hard to convince myself that I have to go back tomorrow. Sigh.
WOW. Best. Post. Ever.
Also, last night we made Heidi's boyfriend watch Garden State, even though he had already expressed that he "would rather suffer from AIDS than watch that movie." A little extreme, I know, but if he would just admit that it's a good movie then we wouldn't have to keep bugging him about it.
I've been off work since Wednesday afternoon and I am finding it really hard to convince myself that I have to go back tomorrow. Sigh.
WOW. Best. Post. Ever.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
love at first bite (har har)
I am about to run away and elope with the turkey sandwich I am currently consuming.
Of course, by the time we get to Vegas he will be in my tummy, so this could be a problem.
Hmm.
Of course, by the time we get to Vegas he will be in my tummy, so this could be a problem.
Hmm.
Friday, November 24, 2006
I wish turkey only cost a nickel
I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. I was pretty tired last night from the near-constant eating and was comatose before midnight. What. A. Loser.
And in case anyone was wondering (and don't pretend you weren't), I did NOT forget the rolls. Here is proof:
And in case anyone was wondering (and don't pretend you weren't), I did NOT forget the rolls. Here is proof:
They look like little butts, right? Tell the truth. It was entirely unintentional, I promise, but a very welcome addition to the Thanksgiving table.
In other butt news, I bought new underwear today. Don't be jealous of my exciting life. Or my butt's exciting life, for that matter. Never mind.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
What is with everyone today? It's Thanksgiving, not truth day!
Last night I went over to my parents' (walked, actually, nearly TWO MILES and yes I live that close to my parents) house to help get stuff ready for today. And by help, I mean stand around, drink wine, and make smart ass remarks.
Granted, I was trusted with several tasks, such as vacuuming, holding the bag open so my dad could squeeze in the 26 pound turkey (a bit like trying to watch a big, fat guy shove himself into a mini Cooper, no?), and making sure everyone's wine glasses never emptied. I was really good at the last one.
And even though I was not given anything but the most minimal tasks, I really think everyone will be able to benefit today from my help yesterday. Especially since I plan on carrying over my wine-glass-filling duties from last night. YOU'RE WELCOME.
Happy Thanksgiving, Internets.
Granted, I was trusted with several tasks, such as vacuuming, holding the bag open so my dad could squeeze in the 26 pound turkey (a bit like trying to watch a big, fat guy shove himself into a mini Cooper, no?), and making sure everyone's wine glasses never emptied. I was really good at the last one.
And even though I was not given anything but the most minimal tasks, I really think everyone will be able to benefit today from my help yesterday. Especially since I plan on carrying over my wine-glass-filling duties from last night. YOU'RE WELCOME.
Happy Thanksgiving, Internets.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
It is time for your next test. You have planted the beet seed. You have walked the long lonely walk of loneliness.
You may find this hard to believe, and I find it hard to admit, but I am a just a tiny bit of a control freak. Maybe you don't find this hard to believe. You probably don't, if you're my sister. Or my mom. Or my dad but seriously, Dad? You have no room to talk. I learned it from watching YOU, Dad!
Ahem. This revelation came to me the other day at work, when they tried to change the way we do something completely trivial and I told them "NO! NO CHANGES!" only not in those words and not in caps lock. And I could explain it all to you so you could see how right I was not to let them change it but I fear it would cause many of you to back away slowly and never, ever return.
I tried to tell myself, "No, self, you are not a control freak! You just like things to run smoothly and it just so happens that you are the only one who knows how to do this correctly! It's OK, self, own it." Then I realized how often I have the following exchange:
Me: So, let me explain this to you.
Person X: OK.
Me: You're going to do this, and this, and then click that, and finally do this and then you're done!
Person X: Can I just do it this way?
Me: Why would you want to do it that way?
Person X: I don't know.
Me: I already told you how to do it the right way.
Person X: Can't there be more than one right way?
Me: No.
Person X: OK, then.
Me: Excellent.
Person X: Why are you breathing like Darth Vader?
Me: Oh. No reason.
Ever since I've realized what a control freak I can be, I've been trying to reign in those impulses. I remind myself that I cannot control every aspect of the office. And the building is not going to tumble to the ground if I'm not there one day. Or so they tell me.
But they are gonna be SO SORRY if it does.
Ahem. This revelation came to me the other day at work, when they tried to change the way we do something completely trivial and I told them "NO! NO CHANGES!" only not in those words and not in caps lock. And I could explain it all to you so you could see how right I was not to let them change it but I fear it would cause many of you to back away slowly and never, ever return.
I tried to tell myself, "No, self, you are not a control freak! You just like things to run smoothly and it just so happens that you are the only one who knows how to do this correctly! It's OK, self, own it." Then I realized how often I have the following exchange:
Me: So, let me explain this to you.
Person X: OK.
Me: You're going to do this, and this, and then click that, and finally do this and then you're done!
Person X: Can I just do it this way?
Me: Why would you want to do it that way?
Person X: I don't know.
Me: I already told you how to do it the right way.
Person X: Can't there be more than one right way?
Me: No.
Person X: OK, then.
Me: Excellent.
Person X: Why are you breathing like Darth Vader?
Me: Oh. No reason.
Ever since I've realized what a control freak I can be, I've been trying to reign in those impulses. I remind myself that I cannot control every aspect of the office. And the building is not going to tumble to the ground if I'm not there one day. Or so they tell me.
But they are gonna be SO SORRY if it does.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
They don't know we know they know we know.
I have a very important question for you, Internets. Is the . . . person who sings the hippopotamus Christmas song a boy or a girl? Or a computer-generated-voice-of-cuteness (or annoyance, based on your preference for the hippopotamus Christmas song).
I know people who hate that song, which I will never understand, because I love it with the fire of a thousand suns.
That's a lot.
Also, that song reminds me of this girl I knew in college that we called "hippo" behind her back. Not because she was fat or anything, but because she was a giant hypocrite (get it? HIPPO-crite). Also, because she was fat. Hey, I never claimed to be a nice person.
I know people who hate that song, which I will never understand, because I love it with the fire of a thousand suns.
That's a lot.
Also, that song reminds me of this girl I knew in college that we called "hippo" behind her back. Not because she was fat or anything, but because she was a giant hypocrite (get it? HIPPO-crite). Also, because she was fat. Hey, I never claimed to be a nice person.
Monday, November 20, 2006
this is unacceptable
I'm of the opinion that snow, much like "Jingle Bells" and twinkle lights, should wait until at least the day after Thanksgiving to appear.
So can someone explain why I woke up and saw this today?
Seriously? Seriously.
OK, I'll admit that it is kind of pretty. But too soon! Too soon!
Also, today is my blog's birthday, meaning I have been babbling incoherently at the Internets for three years now. You're welcome, Internets.
So can someone explain why I woke up and saw this today?
Seriously? Seriously.OK, I'll admit that it is kind of pretty. But too soon! Too soon!
Also, today is my blog's birthday, meaning I have been babbling incoherently at the Internets for three years now. You're welcome, Internets.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
I did just make him run around the building, and I have no intention of timing him. This isn’t even a stopwatch, it’s a digital thermometer.
This year I'm going to Thanksgiving at my parents' house and there was some discussion about what I was going to be required to bring.
Dad: What are you bringing to Thanksgiving?
Me: I have to bring something?
Dad: Well, yeah.
Me: Um. I guess I could bring that bread dip.
Mom: No, not for Thanksgiving.
Me: OK.
Mom: You could make the green bean casserole.
Me: Sure, let's assume that.
Mom: Do you have a crock pot?
Me: Heidi does, but it's a really big one.
Mom: Well, you can borrow one of mine.
Me: Is it hard to make?
Mom: No, it's easy.
Me: Are you sure I can make it?
Mom: Of course.
Me: Really?
Mom: Well. Maybe you can just bring the rolls.
So, I'm in charge of the rolls. Who wants to bet I'll forget to buy them until I have driven over to my parents' on Thursday, pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and walked up to the door and then SUDDENLY I remember and have to run far away (or to Kroger, whatever) to risk the grocery on THANKSGIVING because I can't even be trusted with ROLLS. What? It could happen. Kroger is open on Thanksgiving, right?
Anyway, I also get off work early on Wednesday (don't pretend you're not jealous) so I thought I'd offer to come over and help my mom with some stuff. Because I am such a good daughter.
Mom: I was just calling to tell you that you can DEFINITELY bring the rolls.
Me: OK.
Mom: The green bean casserole is covered.
Me: Sure.
Mom: Rolls will be fine.
Me: Got it, Mom.
Mom: OK.
Me: Do you want me to come over on Wednesday and help with anything?
Mom: Sure, that'd be great.
Me: Wow, you'd trust me with helping to cook Thanksgiving dinner?
Mom: . . .
Me: Mom?
Mom: Maybe you can just start cleaning the house while your dad and I handle the cooking.
Point taken, Mom. You know, I've always assumed that one day I'll learn how to cook, but if I'm gonna hold out for The Perfect Man: Version 7.0, then HELLO, he's obviously going to not only know HOW to cook, but he's going to want nothing less than to cook me a gourmet meal every night of the week. Duh.
Also, I'm really hoping that my precious role as The First Born means I'll get to take some turkey home with me. Or, more importantly, mashed potatoes. I know it'll all be delicious because, you know, I'm not helping.
Dad: What are you bringing to Thanksgiving?
Me: I have to bring something?
Dad: Well, yeah.
Me: Um. I guess I could bring that bread dip.
Mom: No, not for Thanksgiving.
Me: OK.
Mom: You could make the green bean casserole.
Me: Sure, let's assume that.
Mom: Do you have a crock pot?
Me: Heidi does, but it's a really big one.
Mom: Well, you can borrow one of mine.
Me: Is it hard to make?
Mom: No, it's easy.
Me: Are you sure I can make it?
Mom: Of course.
Me: Really?
Mom: Well. Maybe you can just bring the rolls.
So, I'm in charge of the rolls. Who wants to bet I'll forget to buy them until I have driven over to my parents' on Thursday, pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and walked up to the door and then SUDDENLY I remember and have to run far away (or to Kroger, whatever) to risk the grocery on THANKSGIVING because I can't even be trusted with ROLLS. What? It could happen. Kroger is open on Thanksgiving, right?
Anyway, I also get off work early on Wednesday (don't pretend you're not jealous) so I thought I'd offer to come over and help my mom with some stuff. Because I am such a good daughter.
Mom: I was just calling to tell you that you can DEFINITELY bring the rolls.
Me: OK.
Mom: The green bean casserole is covered.
Me: Sure.
Mom: Rolls will be fine.
Me: Got it, Mom.
Mom: OK.
Me: Do you want me to come over on Wednesday and help with anything?
Mom: Sure, that'd be great.
Me: Wow, you'd trust me with helping to cook Thanksgiving dinner?
Mom: . . .
Me: Mom?
Mom: Maybe you can just start cleaning the house while your dad and I handle the cooking.
Point taken, Mom. You know, I've always assumed that one day I'll learn how to cook, but if I'm gonna hold out for The Perfect Man: Version 7.0, then HELLO, he's obviously going to not only know HOW to cook, but he's going to want nothing less than to cook me a gourmet meal every night of the week. Duh.
Also, I'm really hoping that my precious role as The First Born means I'll get to take some turkey home with me. Or, more importantly, mashed potatoes. I know it'll all be delicious because, you know, I'm not helping.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
hang on Sloopy
Apparently there is some big, giant football game on today? Yeah. I couldn't have ignored it if I wanted. Believe me, I tried. I don't know why, but it seems like people are being way more obnoxious about the game this year than I remember in the past. Maybe it's because I work with (and am friends with) several rabid OSU fans. I was berated at work when I said I probably wasn't going to watch the game. I don't know. I don't care who wins.
Well. I care a little. I was, after all, born and raised in Ohio and am genetically predisposed to follow a call of "O-H" with "I-O." Really. It's sad. Feel bad for us.
Well. I care a little. I was, after all, born and raised in Ohio and am genetically predisposed to follow a call of "O-H" with "I-O." Really. It's sad. Feel bad for us.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Conversations With My Roommate: Laundry Edition
Heidi: I couldn't get the coffee stain out of my sweater!
Me: Oh no!
Heidi: I tried stain stick and then I washed it but the stain is still there!
Me: Can you use bleach on it?
Heidi: That's what I'm going to try. I just won't dry the sweater right now and try bleach on it later.
Me: Why can't you dry it?
Heidi: If you dry it, it makes the stain set in more.
Me: Really?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: How do you know so much about laundry?
Heidi: Well, when I was younger my mom made me take Laundry in 4-H.
Me: . . .
Heidi: So I know a lot about laundry now.
Me: Wait, are you serious?
Heidi: Hee. Yeah. And the funny thing is, I actually won once.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: I know. If you ever have any laundry questions, I'm the person to come to.
Me: You have so many hidden talents.
Heidi: Yeah. You should bow down to me.
Me: Oh, I plan on it.
Later . . .
Me: What are you doing?
Heidi: Trying to use bleach to get this coffee stain off my sweater.
Me: Why are you wearing an apron?
Heidi: So I don't get bleach on my clothes.
Me: Ah.
Heidi: Look, though, when I put the bleach on it, it turns my sweater really light purple.
Me: That is so weird!
Heidi: I know! Why is it doing that?!
Me: Don't ask me, you're the laundry expert.
Heidi: Look, it's turning it pink, too! Where is the pink coming from?
Me: Well, there are purple and pink flowers on the bleach bottle, maybe that's why.
Heidi: . . .
Me: Sorry.
Heidi: I guess I'll just wash it and hope the purple comes out.
Me: Or maybe? You'll wash it? And the purple will spread out? And make your whole sweater a nice even shade of light purple?
Heidi: . . .
Me: Sorry.
Heidi: Oh well.
Me: At least it doesn't look like someone pooped on your sweater anymore.
Heidi: . . .
Me: Sorry.
In case you're worried (and don't pretend you're not), the stain totally came out. So did the purple.
(PS: If you want a Christmas card, there is still plenty of time to send me your address. I promise not to stalk you. Too much. Also, feel free to e-mail me with laundry questions and I'll pass them along to Heidi the Laundry Expert.)
Me: Oh no!
Heidi: I tried stain stick and then I washed it but the stain is still there!
Me: Can you use bleach on it?
Heidi: That's what I'm going to try. I just won't dry the sweater right now and try bleach on it later.
Me: Why can't you dry it?
Heidi: If you dry it, it makes the stain set in more.
Me: Really?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: How do you know so much about laundry?
Heidi: Well, when I was younger my mom made me take Laundry in 4-H.
Me: . . .
Heidi: So I know a lot about laundry now.
Me: Wait, are you serious?
Heidi: Hee. Yeah. And the funny thing is, I actually won once.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: I know. If you ever have any laundry questions, I'm the person to come to.
Me: You have so many hidden talents.
Heidi: Yeah. You should bow down to me.
Me: Oh, I plan on it.
Later . . .
Me: What are you doing?
Heidi: Trying to use bleach to get this coffee stain off my sweater.
Me: Why are you wearing an apron?
Heidi: So I don't get bleach on my clothes.
Me: Ah.
Heidi: Look, though, when I put the bleach on it, it turns my sweater really light purple.
Me: That is so weird!
Heidi: I know! Why is it doing that?!
Me: Don't ask me, you're the laundry expert.
Heidi: Look, it's turning it pink, too! Where is the pink coming from?
Me: Well, there are purple and pink flowers on the bleach bottle, maybe that's why.
Heidi: . . .
Me: Sorry.
Heidi: I guess I'll just wash it and hope the purple comes out.
Me: Or maybe? You'll wash it? And the purple will spread out? And make your whole sweater a nice even shade of light purple?
Heidi: . . .
Me: Sorry.
Heidi: Oh well.
Me: At least it doesn't look like someone pooped on your sweater anymore.
Heidi: . . .
Me: Sorry.
In case you're worried (and don't pretend you're not), the stain totally came out. So did the purple.
(PS: If you want a Christmas card, there is still plenty of time to send me your address. I promise not to stalk you. Too much. Also, feel free to e-mail me with laundry questions and I'll pass them along to Heidi the Laundry Expert.)
Thursday, November 16, 2006
sweet dreams are made of this . . . whatever THAT means
Last night I dreamt that I put a hot tub in my room and when I woke up, my first thought was not, "Why are you dreaming about hot tubs, you freak?" oh no! My first thought was, "Hey, where the hell did my hot tub go?"
Don't tell me it's completely unrealistic to put a hot tub in my bedroom because there is TOTALLY enough room for one!
I measured.
No, I didn't.
But I could have.
I do, after all, have a tape measure.
You know, somewhere.
Don't tell me it's completely unrealistic to put a hot tub in my bedroom because there is TOTALLY enough room for one!
I measured.
No, I didn't.
But I could have.
I do, after all, have a tape measure.
You know, somewhere.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!
Today, during my lunch break I decided to go to Target. Oh, Target. The love of my life (besides TiVo). I was going for a very specific purpose and that was a) to buy a Christmas present for my sister, b) to buy deodorant, c) to look at the shoes and talk myself out of buying at least three pairs, and d) to waste time. The wasting time part was the most important, obviously. I was going to just stay at work during my lunch break, but the thought of both arriving at work and leaving work in the dark was far too depressing. I thought I'd use my break to absorb as much sunlight as possible. Which turned out to be, you know, NONE since it was pissing rain all day long. Pissing rain. Is there any combination of words in the English language more beautiful? No? I agree.
Anyway, since I was at Target I thought I might as well look around. I had time to kill. See above: time wasting. I ended up going down the Christmas-crap aisles to see if they had any generic Christmas gifts I could buy for people I don't really like but have to buy gifts for anyway. And then I passed the Christmas cards and even though I'd already told myself I wasn't sending Christmas cards this year because they always end up sitting in a neat little bestamped pile on my desk until like . . . Christmas Eve Eve when I finally get around to dropping them in the mail (my god, I've forgotten where this sentence even started), I bought some cards anyway. Because, you see, I'd forgotten that they have FUNNY Christmas cards. That is, if you think scatological humor is funny. Which I do. See: rest of blog.
So now I have Christmas cards! Yay! I thought I'd better send some so I don't feel like a Grade A Jackass when I get them from people and I didn't send them anything. Oh, and I also saw this somewhere on the Internets, where someone was going to send Christmas cards to whoever e-mailed them with their address, so I'm totally stealing their idea. I'd credit them, but I can't remember where I saw it and also I'm too tired (read: lazy) to look. So, if you want a Christmas card and also enjoy scatological humor then e-mail me and I'll see what I can do.
I just hope you're OK with not getting a card until January.
Of 2008.
Anyway, since I was at Target I thought I might as well look around. I had time to kill. See above: time wasting. I ended up going down the Christmas-crap aisles to see if they had any generic Christmas gifts I could buy for people I don't really like but have to buy gifts for anyway. And then I passed the Christmas cards and even though I'd already told myself I wasn't sending Christmas cards this year because they always end up sitting in a neat little bestamped pile on my desk until like . . . Christmas Eve Eve when I finally get around to dropping them in the mail (my god, I've forgotten where this sentence even started), I bought some cards anyway. Because, you see, I'd forgotten that they have FUNNY Christmas cards. That is, if you think scatological humor is funny. Which I do. See: rest of blog.
So now I have Christmas cards! Yay! I thought I'd better send some so I don't feel like a Grade A Jackass when I get them from people and I didn't send them anything. Oh, and I also saw this somewhere on the Internets, where someone was going to send Christmas cards to whoever e-mailed them with their address, so I'm totally stealing their idea. I'd credit them, but I can't remember where I saw it and also I'm too tired (read: lazy) to look. So, if you want a Christmas card and also enjoy scatological humor then e-mail me and I'll see what I can do.
I just hope you're OK with not getting a card until January.
Of 2008.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Jim has worked at the same place for five years. Jim eats the same ham and cheese sandwich every day for lunch.
Whenever my roommate and I go to the grocery, we stop by the yogurt section to stock up. Because, you see, Kroger always has the kind we like on sale . . . 12 for $6. Or something. I don't remember exactly. So, Heidi picks out six flavors and I pick out six flavors. And each and every time, I have to talk myself out of getting six Blackberry.
I find it easy to get stuck in a routine and I get very cranky if this routine is disrupted in any way. I have to talk myself into new things. Even things I love now, such as yogurt, coffee, voting, I have had to force myself into in the past. This routine ranges from wearing the same thing every day (not my fault, but I do enjoy the whole non-decision making thing early in the morning) to the things I eat. In the morning, I like my yogurt and coffee and to not talk to anyone. For lunch, a turkey sandwich, some pretzels and a Diet Coke. For dinner? Whatever is both within reach (I'm short) in the cabinet and microwavable.
I try to break myself of the routine, but it's so easy to backslide. Which means try harder, I suppose, even if I just trade in my turkey sandwich for peanut butter and jelly.
I find it easy to get stuck in a routine and I get very cranky if this routine is disrupted in any way. I have to talk myself into new things. Even things I love now, such as yogurt, coffee, voting, I have had to force myself into in the past. This routine ranges from wearing the same thing every day (not my fault, but I do enjoy the whole non-decision making thing early in the morning) to the things I eat. In the morning, I like my yogurt and coffee and to not talk to anyone. For lunch, a turkey sandwich, some pretzels and a Diet Coke. For dinner? Whatever is both within reach (I'm short) in the cabinet and microwavable.
I try to break myself of the routine, but it's so easy to backslide. Which means try harder, I suppose, even if I just trade in my turkey sandwich for peanut butter and jelly.
Monday, November 13, 2006
You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.
I have this side project I'm supposed to be working on and, much like I did when I had a paper to write in college, I have been doing everything in my power to procrastinate this evening. Procrastination includes but is not limited to:
- watching Love, Actually (oh, shut up)
- dusting (and also realizing that we need to dust more often)
- trying to get Phoebe to chase her tail
- working on the scarf that hasn't seen the light of day since, oh, I lived in my old apartment, probably
- playing Ms. Pac Man (don't be jealous, we have one that hooks up to our TV)
- gossiping with Heidi
- cleaning my room
- reserving library books
- reading blogs in case anyone has written anything new in the past ten minutes . . . which they haven't . . . get on that, please
- oh, and writing this
Stop distracting me, Internets.
In my fantasy, I always thought I would slap someone, make a big speech, and storm out forever. But this is good, too.
There are so many things in this world about which I am completely clueless. Astrophysics, car mechanics, this man's brain mechanics, opera, what I want to do with my life, money management, how to play video games without getting those weird skin indentations on your thumbs from the keys on the controller.
The longer I am out in the world, the more I worry that I have been forming an entirely wrong sort of skillset. That I wasted my time studying sonnets and syntax when I should have been learning how to take apart a computer in sixty seconds. Although, I probably could take apart a computer in less than sixty seconds, but I'd be screwed if you wanted me to put it back together. So, you see, I fear I have little to offer the human race. Unless, of course, someone is looking for a person who would willingly spend all her free time reading, regularly quotes a variety of movies/TV shows for her own amusement, and plays a mean game of flip cup.
In THAT case, I'm totally your girl.
The longer I am out in the world, the more I worry that I have been forming an entirely wrong sort of skillset. That I wasted my time studying sonnets and syntax when I should have been learning how to take apart a computer in sixty seconds. Although, I probably could take apart a computer in less than sixty seconds, but I'd be screwed if you wanted me to put it back together. So, you see, I fear I have little to offer the human race. Unless, of course, someone is looking for a person who would willingly spend all her free time reading, regularly quotes a variety of movies/TV shows for her own amusement, and plays a mean game of flip cup.
In THAT case, I'm totally your girl.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
I sense a great disturbance in the force
I'm still babysitting and some neighbor children are downstairs with my cousins playing Legos or Atari or whatever it is the kids are playing these days, and I'm pretty sure I just heard the six-year-old (I think, I mean, I'm not sure but he's pretty little) singing, "It's getting hot in here . . . so take off all your clothes."
WOW.
Also, I have watched all three Star Wars movies (the old ones) today. And really, my biggest wish throughout all three (but mainly the first) was that someone would punch that whiny bitch Luke Skywalker square in the nuts.
WOW.
Also, I have watched all three Star Wars movies (the old ones) today. And really, my biggest wish throughout all three (but mainly the first) was that someone would punch that whiny bitch Luke Skywalker square in the nuts.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Watch out, the yellow ones don't stop!
Is it close enough to Christmas that I can justify watching Elf and/or Love Actually every day? What's that? No, you say?
Well, then, can I have a reindeer?
Well, then, can I have a reindeer?
Friday, November 10, 2006
I already feel like an idiot most of the time anyway. With or without a fireman's pole.
Hour Seven of Babysitting My Cousins AKA Project "Won't Somebody Think of the Children?!" and we've already watched:
and of the three, I'd have to say, Spongebob is the clear winner. As if there were ever any question. Parumph!*
Anyway. Both children have gone to bed so now I'm watching Bridget Jones's Diary for the [fill in unbelievably large number here]** time. I was watching the tail end of Pride & Prejudice as they got ready for bed and as Josh walked by, I believe his exact words were, "WHAT are you WATCHING?" I don't think I can accurately convey the amount of teenage disgust he managed to fit into that one question. But really, can you explain The Darcy to someone who is not afflicted? I think not. Especially not a thirteen-year-old boy.
*I don't know
**Seriously, though? I have seen this movie so many times that I can recite the dialogue along with it. You'd think I'd be ashamed of that, but I'm sharing it with you right now so I guess I'm not. Huh, who knew?
The Todd appreciates hot, regardless of gender.
I started this morning off with a fun-filled trip to the doctor. You really haven't lived until you've had your weight announced in earshot of the waiting room before you've even had your coffee, but oh here's the funny part, you've chosen this week to give up coffee because you don't want to make the reason you're at the doctor's office any worse than it already is. And judging by the killer headache you've had for the past four days, it was probably a good idea to give coffee up now before the addiction got any worse.
This was the first time I've gone to the doctor in . . . I don't know, a long time. Because I don't like to go to the doctor and I'm not one of those people who'll just go to the doctor every year for a "check up." Who does that? Who are you people? I don't understand you. I, like any normal (or whatever) person, don't go to the doctor unless I have something that I cannot cure with an ever-changing mix of denial, ibuprofen, and tequila. Also? At the doctor they make you pee in a cup. Something I hardly ever do at home. I peed on my hand a little. I know. I KNOW. I have no idea why I felt the need to share that with you, Internets, but there it is.
And now I bring you, a Conversation With My Doctor That, OK, Existed Primarily In My Own Head:
Dr: Hi, nice to meet you.
Me: You, too.
Dr: Is your blood pressure normally this high?
Me: Only when I'm in a doctor's office.
Dr: White coat syndrome, huh?
Me: Yeah, heh.
Dr: But otherwise it's normal?
My Head: Oh, god, she thinks I'm a freak and that I'm lying and that my blood pressure is normally 230 over eighty thousand.
Me: Yes, otherwise it's normal.
Dr: Good, good. Any blood in your urine?
My Head: Oh my god, why is she asking me that? We just met! Oh god, I have cancer and she doesn't want to tell me. Why is she dragging this out? Just tell me. "Jennie, you have cancer and have approximately six months to live." I'm going to die single, and alone, and childless, and worst of all, I haven't even become famous yet. Shit.
Me: Um, no.
Dr: Good, well your urinalysis showed that you're very well hydrated.
My Head: Awesome. My goal is to drink eight glasses of water a day. It's fun. Like a game.
Me: Great.
Dr: Are you sexually active?
My Head: What? Can we go back to talking about my urine?
Me: Um.
Dr: So, what do you do for fun?
My Head: Have imaginary conversations with my doctor? Write nonsense in my blog? Um. Drink?
Me: Oh, just . . . hang out with friends. And I like to read.
Dr: Oh, really? That's great!
My Head: Yes. Jennie read good.
Me: Yeah.
Dr: Read anything good lately?
My Head: Besides blogs?
Me: Well, right now I'm reading When We Were Orphans. It's pretty good so far.
Dr: Oh, let me write that down. I'm always looking for new stuff to read. So what's it about?
My Head: Is she testing my mental acuity or something?
Me: It's about this detective in London in the 30's. He's just becoming well-known. And his parents disappeared when he was young, so he's kind of looking into that.
Dr: Sounds great.
My Head: I am boring myself.
Me: It is. It's really good.
Dr: OK, well, everything looks good here, we'll let you know how the tests come back blah blah have a good day.
My Head: Shouldn't we have spent less time talking about books and more time talking about, I don't know, my urine?
Me: OK, great. Good talk.
It's OK, though. She gave me free drugs. When I was a kid, the only thing I got for going to the doctor was a sucker so, hey . . . bonus.
This was the first time I've gone to the doctor in . . . I don't know, a long time. Because I don't like to go to the doctor and I'm not one of those people who'll just go to the doctor every year for a "check up." Who does that? Who are you people? I don't understand you. I, like any normal (or whatever) person, don't go to the doctor unless I have something that I cannot cure with an ever-changing mix of denial, ibuprofen, and tequila. Also? At the doctor they make you pee in a cup. Something I hardly ever do at home. I peed on my hand a little. I know. I KNOW. I have no idea why I felt the need to share that with you, Internets, but there it is.
And now I bring you, a Conversation With My Doctor That, OK, Existed Primarily In My Own Head:
Dr: Hi, nice to meet you.
Me: You, too.
Dr: Is your blood pressure normally this high?
Me: Only when I'm in a doctor's office.
Dr: White coat syndrome, huh?
Me: Yeah, heh.
Dr: But otherwise it's normal?
My Head: Oh, god, she thinks I'm a freak and that I'm lying and that my blood pressure is normally 230 over eighty thousand.
Me: Yes, otherwise it's normal.
Dr: Good, good. Any blood in your urine?
My Head: Oh my god, why is she asking me that? We just met! Oh god, I have cancer and she doesn't want to tell me. Why is she dragging this out? Just tell me. "Jennie, you have cancer and have approximately six months to live." I'm going to die single, and alone, and childless, and worst of all, I haven't even become famous yet. Shit.
Me: Um, no.
Dr: Good, well your urinalysis showed that you're very well hydrated.
My Head: Awesome. My goal is to drink eight glasses of water a day. It's fun. Like a game.
Me: Great.
Dr: Are you sexually active?
My Head: What? Can we go back to talking about my urine?
Me: Um.
Dr: So, what do you do for fun?
My Head: Have imaginary conversations with my doctor? Write nonsense in my blog? Um. Drink?
Me: Oh, just . . . hang out with friends. And I like to read.
Dr: Oh, really? That's great!
My Head: Yes. Jennie read good.
Me: Yeah.
Dr: Read anything good lately?
My Head: Besides blogs?
Me: Well, right now I'm reading When We Were Orphans. It's pretty good so far.
Dr: Oh, let me write that down. I'm always looking for new stuff to read. So what's it about?
My Head: Is she testing my mental acuity or something?
Me: It's about this detective in London in the 30's. He's just becoming well-known. And his parents disappeared when he was young, so he's kind of looking into that.
Dr: Sounds great.
My Head: I am boring myself.
Me: It is. It's really good.
Dr: OK, well, everything looks good here, we'll let you know how the tests come back blah blah have a good day.
My Head: Shouldn't we have spent less time talking about books and more time talking about, I don't know, my urine?
Me: OK, great. Good talk.
It's OK, though. She gave me free drugs. When I was a kid, the only thing I got for going to the doctor was a sucker so, hey . . . bonus.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
The strawberries taste like strawberries. The snozzberries taste like snozzberries.
So, it's like freakishly warm outside right now. What's up with that? We had our heat on and I got home from work and it felt like an oven (one where the knob isn't on upside-down) or a sauna or, like, I don't know . . . Iraq. You like that? Topical, right? WOW. Anyway.
Completely off-topic, but I think I need to exorcise the words "like" and "um" from my vocabulary. Once I get those out of the way, I can concentrate on the curse words.
Earlier today, I was really bored, so I started feeding different pictures of myself into that myheritage celebrity match-up thingie. What, are you judging me? What do you do when you're bored? Anyway, I need something to fill the time besides blogs, myspace, and craigslist. So, I uploaded a couple different pictures of myself and came up with some repeat offenders. They ranged from young or youngish (Famke Jensen, Elizabeth Hurley, Kate Beckinsale) to old (Mary Tyler Moore, Judy Garland . . . at least they used young pictures, I guess) to WTF (Katherine Heigl aka Batshit Crazy Izzy Who Killed Denny and Now We're Supposed to Like, Feel SORRY For Her from Grey's Anatomy, Audrey Tautou, and I'm gonna go ahead and throw Judy Garland in here because seriously? wtf).
Whatever, Internets! I don't care how much you butter me up, you're not getting any more of my money! Leave me alone, I hate you!
I'm sorry I yelled, Internets. I didn't really mean that. Let's never fight again.
Completely off-topic, but I think I need to exorcise the words "like" and "um" from my vocabulary. Once I get those out of the way, I can concentrate on the curse words.
Earlier today, I was really bored, so I started feeding different pictures of myself into that myheritage celebrity match-up thingie. What, are you judging me? What do you do when you're bored? Anyway, I need something to fill the time besides blogs, myspace, and craigslist. So, I uploaded a couple different pictures of myself and came up with some repeat offenders. They ranged from young or youngish (Famke Jensen, Elizabeth Hurley, Kate Beckinsale) to old (Mary Tyler Moore, Judy Garland . . . at least they used young pictures, I guess) to WTF (Katherine Heigl aka Batshit Crazy Izzy Who Killed Denny and Now We're Supposed to Like, Feel SORRY For Her from Grey's Anatomy, Audrey Tautou, and I'm gonna go ahead and throw Judy Garland in here because seriously? wtf).
Whatever, Internets! I don't care how much you butter me up, you're not getting any more of my money! Leave me alone, I hate you!
I'm sorry I yelled, Internets. I didn't really mean that. Let's never fight again.
fatty fatty two by four
A little over a year ago, I started doing Weight Watchers because I'd seen how well it worked for Heidi. For those of you not aware of this miraculous system, you're given a set number of points a day (I get 20) and each food is worth a specific number of points. I suppose you could count calories or something, but I find converting everything into points easier. Also, I like being told exactly what I can and cannot eat. It's comforting, like I have parents telling me what to do again. Who would have thought I'd find that comforting someday? Anyway, it actually worked (who knew?) so I continued to do it because buying new clothes when you have no money is OK as long as the new clothes are in a smaller size.
The past couple of months, though, I've been sort of half-assing the whole counting points thing. What happens is I'll be pretty good all week and then the weekend will come around and will make me consume all sorts of bad things, like Wendy's and ice cream and tequila (oh my). The past couple of weeks? I didn't just fall off the Weight Watchers Wagon, I dived off headfirst into a giant, bubbling cauldron of hot fudge and then I swam around in it scooping up marshmallows with my mouth. It was messy.
I don't know what my point is. I don't have one. Other than to say I'm trying to climb back on the wagon, but all the hot fudge kind of dried on my clothes which is making it really hard to move.
This weekend, I'm house/baby/dog-sitting (one house, two children, one dog) for my aunt and uncle while they go with one of my cousins to play in a soccer tournament. My cousins are 10 and 13 so basically I'm there to make sure they don't kill each other and/or set the house on fire. I do believe the last time I watched the two of them was a couple of years ago, and my only memory of that time was my youngest cousin dancing around in his underwear singing, "I love my wiener, I love my wiener," when I was trying to get him to take a shower.
So, yes, I'm expecting some good stories out of this weekend. My youngest cousin is excellent for those. I think I've shared at least one of these before, but I'm too lazy to go back and look so here they are again:
Sammy (youngest cousin): Ow, you hit me in my crouch!
Zach (oldest cousin): Sam, it's not called your crouch, it's your crotch.
Sammy: Oh. Well, I call mine The King!
Aaaaaaaaaand . . .
Sammy: I'm hungry!
Aunt: Well, dinner is almost ready.
Sammy: But I'm huuuuungrrrryyyyyyy!
Aunt: Sam, I said it's almost ready.
Sammy: But my spleen hurts!
Aunt: . . .
Sammy: And my other spleen hurts, too!
I was not present for either of these conversations, but they're told often at family gatherings. Seriously. And don't think Sammy has the market cornered on weird in my family. The other cousin I'm watching? Once asked for chocolate donuts for Christmas. See. Weird. Also, hi, have we met?
The past couple of months, though, I've been sort of half-assing the whole counting points thing. What happens is I'll be pretty good all week and then the weekend will come around and will make me consume all sorts of bad things, like Wendy's and ice cream and tequila (oh my). The past couple of weeks? I didn't just fall off the Weight Watchers Wagon, I dived off headfirst into a giant, bubbling cauldron of hot fudge and then I swam around in it scooping up marshmallows with my mouth. It was messy.
I don't know what my point is. I don't have one. Other than to say I'm trying to climb back on the wagon, but all the hot fudge kind of dried on my clothes which is making it really hard to move.
This weekend, I'm house/baby/dog-sitting (one house, two children, one dog) for my aunt and uncle while they go with one of my cousins to play in a soccer tournament. My cousins are 10 and 13 so basically I'm there to make sure they don't kill each other and/or set the house on fire. I do believe the last time I watched the two of them was a couple of years ago, and my only memory of that time was my youngest cousin dancing around in his underwear singing, "I love my wiener, I love my wiener," when I was trying to get him to take a shower.
So, yes, I'm expecting some good stories out of this weekend. My youngest cousin is excellent for those. I think I've shared at least one of these before, but I'm too lazy to go back and look so here they are again:
Sammy (youngest cousin): Ow, you hit me in my crouch!
Zach (oldest cousin): Sam, it's not called your crouch, it's your crotch.
Sammy: Oh. Well, I call mine The King!
Aaaaaaaaaand . . .
Sammy: I'm hungry!
Aunt: Well, dinner is almost ready.
Sammy: But I'm huuuuungrrrryyyyyyy!
Aunt: Sam, I said it's almost ready.
Sammy: But my spleen hurts!
Aunt: . . .
Sammy: And my other spleen hurts, too!
I was not present for either of these conversations, but they're told often at family gatherings. Seriously. And don't think Sammy has the market cornered on weird in my family. The other cousin I'm watching? Once asked for chocolate donuts for Christmas. See. Weird. Also, hi, have we met?
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
I'm just excited that Ohio finally blue itself
So, I went to visit my (Republican) parents earlier this evening:
Mom: What are you doing here?
Me: I was just driving by, so I thought I'd stop in and say hello. So. Hello.
Dad: Oh, I know, she's here to gloat.
Me: No, I'm not!
Dad: Jennie . . .
Me: OK, maybe a little.
Mom: What are you doing here?
Me: I was just driving by, so I thought I'd stop in and say hello. So. Hello.
Dad: Oh, I know, she's here to gloat.
Me: No, I'm not!
Dad: Jennie . . .
Me: OK, maybe a little.
Business is like a jungle. And I am like a tiger. And Dwight is like a monkey, that stabs the tiger in the back with a stick.
You know, it's really nice to wake up the morning after Election Day and not feel like crying or punching someone in the face. This is a first for me. I know this will by no means make things perfect, but I am taking a moment to do a little happy dance. OK, I'm done. This pretty much sums up my feelings today.
If your voting high still hasn't worn off, and you want that feeling to last, head on over to Heather Anne's to vote for The Hoagies. Apparently it's a pretty tight race. Which is good. I need something to tear myself away from CNN today.
ETA: And Donald Rumsfeld just resigned?! Is it my birthday*?
*it's not
If your voting high still hasn't worn off, and you want that feeling to last, head on over to Heather Anne's to vote for The Hoagies. Apparently it's a pretty tight race. Which is good. I need something to tear myself away from CNN today.
ETA: And Donald Rumsfeld just resigned?! Is it my birthday*?
*it's not
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Proving, once again, that I will do pretty much anything if asked nicely. Or just asked, really.
POOHEAD BUTTSHITS.
You're welcome.
Vote, bitches. Unless you're disenfranchised (sorry). Oh, and vote for the really important election, too. I really think the gold turkeys are going to change the country.
PS: This whole no caffeine thing is kicking my ass. Seriously. It's making me stupider than, you know, I am on any other day.
You're welcome.
Vote, bitches. Unless you're disenfranchised (sorry). Oh, and vote for the really important election, too. I really think the gold turkeys are going to change the country.
PS: This whole no caffeine thing is kicking my ass. Seriously. It's making me stupider than, you know, I am on any other day.
Funniest guy she's ever met? I'm funny, right? What do you know, you're a door! You just like knock-knock jokes! Ha ha ha. Save it for inside.
So, I was having a bad day. Yes, even though it's election day. It's raining, I don't feel good, and I had to trade my coffee for cranberry juice this morning (and not because I'm on the Regina George cranberry juice diet) and so now I have a big, fat, caffeine-addict headache.
I said I WAS having a bad day. Because then I went to check out the Hoagie (heehee, hoagie) nominees and saw my name. Whoo and hoo! And also yay!
I was nominated for Hilarious-est blog and since I've always equated laughter (with me, at me, whatever) with people liking me, I was pretty happy. I even choked down some more cranberry juice in excitement, which isn't a good idea because . . . you know, the choking and everything.
So, please. Laugh at me. Like me. Or I might cry. And they don't give you gold turkeys for crying.
Although, they might still give you candy.
I said I WAS having a bad day. Because then I went to check out the Hoagie (heehee, hoagie) nominees and saw my name. Whoo and hoo! And also yay!
I was nominated for Hilarious-est blog and since I've always equated laughter (with me, at me, whatever) with people liking me, I was pretty happy. I even choked down some more cranberry juice in excitement, which isn't a good idea because . . . you know, the choking and everything.
So, please. Laugh at me. Like me. Or I might cry. And they don't give you gold turkeys for crying.
Although, they might still give you candy.
Monday, November 06, 2006
I love drunk Monica! She's so much more fun than regular Monica!
You guys, you guys, you guys! Guess what! Tomorrow is Election Day! I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm pretty excited. Probably more excited than I should be, given my track record. But I don't care! I'm excited! Not as excited as I would be if we didn't have to use electronic machines that are apparently easy to hack into! Because I liked stabbing the cardboard with the little stabby thingie! But still! Excited!
Another reason I'm excited? Besides the actual voting process? The dirty, dirty ads will stop. Some lady on a recording called our apartment yesterday to tell me that she had gone undercover in Sherrod Brown's office and sold drugs to one of his employees but before she could finish I interrupted with, and I believe my exact words were, "oh, for fuck's sake," and then I hung up. True story.
Also, I believe tomorrow's election is the reason the cleaning guy felt the need to tell me all about how he's a Libertarian and how, if I really think about it, I'm probably a Libertarian, too. That's great and all, I love to have a deep, politicized conversations at 9 o'clock on a Monday morning but I don't really enjoy having to yell them over the noise of a steam cleaner. Also, don't tell me how to vote on the Issues, capital I. Maybe you are mistaking my silence for ignorance, but really I'm just wishing you would shut up and leave me alone. Really. Shh. Mama's tired.
Last night, I confessed something to my roommate and I fear she now knows just how OCD I can be. AND NOW Conversations With My Roommate:
Me: I have a confession to make.
Heidi: Uh-oh.
Me: While you were gone I alphabetized the DVDs.
Heidi: Haha, I thought I noticed that!
Me: Really?
Heidi: Well, yeah, I saw the two Zoolanders at the end of the row and thought, "I didn't know Jennie had Zoolander."
Me: That's how it started! I was just going to put our duplicate copies next to each other and then once I started that I figured why not just put them all in alphabetical order.
Heidi: Nice.
Me: I stopped myself from separating them by genre, though.
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: That's how I have my CDs organized. And I used to separate my books into Fiction and Non-Fiction and within the Non-Fiction I'd separate them by subject matter.
Heidi: WOW, it's like we live in a bookstore.
Me: Well, I did used to work in a library.
Heidi: That explains it.
Although, to be honest, I don't think working at the library was so much a cause as it was an enabler. I'm sick, OK?
Another reason I'm excited? Besides the actual voting process? The dirty, dirty ads will stop. Some lady on a recording called our apartment yesterday to tell me that she had gone undercover in Sherrod Brown's office and sold drugs to one of his employees but before she could finish I interrupted with, and I believe my exact words were, "oh, for fuck's sake," and then I hung up. True story.
Also, I believe tomorrow's election is the reason the cleaning guy felt the need to tell me all about how he's a Libertarian and how, if I really think about it, I'm probably a Libertarian, too. That's great and all, I love to have a deep, politicized conversations at 9 o'clock on a Monday morning but I don't really enjoy having to yell them over the noise of a steam cleaner. Also, don't tell me how to vote on the Issues, capital I. Maybe you are mistaking my silence for ignorance, but really I'm just wishing you would shut up and leave me alone. Really. Shh. Mama's tired.
Last night, I confessed something to my roommate and I fear she now knows just how OCD I can be. AND NOW Conversations With My Roommate:
Me: I have a confession to make.
Heidi: Uh-oh.
Me: While you were gone I alphabetized the DVDs.
Heidi: Haha, I thought I noticed that!
Me: Really?
Heidi: Well, yeah, I saw the two Zoolanders at the end of the row and thought, "I didn't know Jennie had Zoolander."
Me: That's how it started! I was just going to put our duplicate copies next to each other and then once I started that I figured why not just put them all in alphabetical order.
Heidi: Nice.
Me: I stopped myself from separating them by genre, though.
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: That's how I have my CDs organized. And I used to separate my books into Fiction and Non-Fiction and within the Non-Fiction I'd separate them by subject matter.
Heidi: WOW, it's like we live in a bookstore.
Me: Well, I did used to work in a library.
Heidi: That explains it.
Although, to be honest, I don't think working at the library was so much a cause as it was an enabler. I'm sick, OK?
Sunday, November 05, 2006
I was thinking . . . will there ever be a boy born who can swim faster then a shark?
Last night, as I was conducting a very important phone conversation with Heidi (I was telling her how I had just learned that Neil Patrick Harris is gay), I heard a strange noise coming from my room. It was a kind of whirring, but like . . . evil whirring? Anyway, I entered my room to see what on earth could possibly be making such an unholy noise and found that my computer monitor had either just died or had become inhabited by some wicked creature from the underworld. I hope it's just dead because, while it is unplugged now, it's still sitting in a useless lump on my bedroom floor. I'd like to think a tiny, armored, green gremlin (Or one of those white, evil imp things from that movie The Gate? Did you ever see that? I saw it at a very young age and I do believe it scarred me for life) will not come scampering out while I'm asleep so it can steal my breath like that one movie. You know the one I'm talking about? Anyway. I also saw that at too young an age, and while most likely neither of these movies would scare me now, Child Freckled Pigtailed Jennie (who looks much like Adult StillFreckled SlightlyTaller Jennie) was freaked the hell out.
Luckily, my parents had an extra computer monitor that I can use until I get paid on Friday and can afford to go buy a new one. BUT, between the hours of about 5:30 last night and 2 o'clock today, I was without access to The Internets. It was rough, especially since I had already decided to stay in and be a good girl (to make up for last weekend). I was stuck all alone with my thoughts with no outlet for my word vomit (thanks, Tamara) ALL. Night. Long. Now THAT is scary.
Luckily, my parents had an extra computer monitor that I can use until I get paid on Friday and can afford to go buy a new one. BUT, between the hours of about 5:30 last night and 2 o'clock today, I was without access to The Internets. It was rough, especially since I had already decided to stay in and be a good girl (to make up for last weekend). I was stuck all alone with my thoughts with no outlet for my word vomit (thanks, Tamara) ALL. Night. Long. Now THAT is scary.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
crazy, crazy, everybody laugh
Do you want to hear why my roommate is awesome? Last night, she was waiting to get her flat tire changed and she was shopping (as you do). She called me to ask what size shoe I wear because she'd found some cute ones for only four dollars. FOUR DOLLARS. And she bought them for me and look how cute they are:
Don't be jealous of my cute shoes or awesome roommate, OK? Unfortunately, it's too cold outside for me to wear them, but come April or May when it finally warms up again, or if I win the lottery and can afford to go on vacation? I'm totally busting these babies out.
Heidi always bought a quesadilla maker. A QUESADILLA MAKER. This will go well with the enormous amount of tortilla soup we have left from our Max & Erma's Tortilla Soup experiment.
So, last night, I had my pajamas on by the time Heidi got home from her flat tire debacle (8:30, nice), I was ignoring my phone (even calls from a boy), and I was watching Center Stage. Why, yes, it was an exciting night, thank you. Then she suggested we go see a movie. Namely, Borat. Who would turn that down? Not me. Especially when the movie theater is two minutes from our apartment. So, even though it meant changing from my pajamas to regular clothes, we went to the movies. And even though it was a 9:50 showing, the theater was packed. AND worst of all? When we tried to go to the little kiosk where you can just swipe your credit card and it prints you a ticket? It wasn't working! Oh, no! We always buy our tickets there, because you can totally buy them for the senior citizen price and the 15-year-old boys never say anything when they rip your ticket. My dad gave me a disapproving look when I told him we did this, but I'm sorry, most movies are not worth 9 dollars or however much they cost now. I don't know, because senior citizens only have to pay $6.75. Anyway, so we had to buy our tickets through the regular line and I was really happy that I never take anything out of my purse/wallet because the guy asked if I had a military or student ID for the discount and I TOTALLY DID. He must have overlooked that my student ID said "2004" on it, or he just assumed I was really dumb and still in college.
I forget where I was going with this. Oh well. Anyway, the movie was HILARIOUS. I laughed til I cried. And I actually missed pieces of the dialogue because the theater was so loud. With the laughter. And people peeing themselves. Which can be loud. Also smelly. I really feel like there should have been some kind of warning at the beginning of the movie. Something like, "there is male nudity in this movie, fat and hairy male nudity, that may cause the viewer to laugh hysterically and then want to pour bleach onto their brain . . . watch at your own risk."
It would have been helpful, is what I'm saying.
When we got out of the theater, I saw that one of my friends had called but hadn't left a message. And when I called her back, she said she was calling to tell me she was engaged. Another one bites the dust. RIP. Ha, just kidding, congratulations, Nancy!
Seriously, though, that is five, count them FIVE, of my friends who are at this very moment engaged. One, two, tree, four, five! Yeah, counting them like The Count doesn't make it any less scary. If Heidi gets engaged soon, I'm going to Vegas and marrying the first guy I see there.
OK, not really. Maybe the second guy.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Indians do not eat monkey brains. And if they do, sign me up. Because I am sure they are very tasty. And nutritional.
Last night was like a Conversations With My Roommate EXTRAVAGANZA. So good, you guys, but I can't remember them all. Sorry. Whatever, like you even care, Internets. On the way to the grocery last night (my third time this week!) we were sitting at a red light and I was doing my imitation of my boss and Heidi was making fun of me because of the way I was waving my arms around, like an animatronic character at Chuck E. Cheese or that robot thing from Lost In Space. My grandma used to make me watch that show when she babysat me. That and lots of game shows. Good times.
So, anyway, Heidi's making fun of me and we're both laughing and waving our arms around all "danger, danger Will Robinson!" and it's not until the light changes that I realize there is a guy in the lane next to us LAUGHING HIS ASS OFF. He hadn't even noticed that the light changed at first because he was too busy laughing at us. I was not embarrassed, just happy to bring a little bit of joy to someone in this cold, hard world. Then, at the grocery some old guy told us not to buy Kroger hamburger buns because he bought them once and they went bad in one day. I got a little offended that he was implying our buns were rotten, but I know he meant well. Also, at the grocery store Heidi was very proud of me because our total came to 69 dollars and I didn't yell, "HAHA 69!" or giggle even a little bit. Until we left the store, anyway.
On the way home, we totally solved some marriage problems, too. AND NOW, Conversations With My Roommate That My Family May Want to Never, Ever Read:
Heidi: I heard this lady on the radio today talking about how to talk to guys like a guy.
Me: Oh, yeah?
Heidi: Yeah, she said it works, too. Like, she stopped nagging her husband to do stuff and she'd just ask him once? And if he didn't do it, she'd be all, "Hey, stop being lazy and do this."
Me: So, basically, you just have to be mean to him?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: That doesn't sound healthy.
Heidi: No, but I guess it works.
Me: I think when I get married I'm going to trade sexual favors for chores.
Heidi: Haha, what, like one chore is worth two blowjobs?
Me: Well, it would depend on the chore. Like, mowing the lawn is three blowjobs, to be given at the recipient's convenience.
Heidi: Only, not consecutively.
Me: Obviously.
Heidi: You need resting time.
Me: Right. And if it's a small chore, like emptying the dishwasher? You get a handjob.
Heidi: I thought you were gonna say handshake.
Me: No, that's for something like, I don't know, opening the car door.
Heidi: Nice.
Me: Yeah, and for other small chores . . . I don't know.
Heidi: He could watch you undress!
Me: Haha, yeah . . . "ok, honey, I won't wear flannel pajamas tonight, I'll wear a nightie."
Heidi: This will help so many people.
Me: Yes, although they probably shouldn't take my advice, since I've never been married.
Heidi: So?
Me: By the way, this is so Conversations With My Roommate material.
Heidi: Yessssss.
Me: Maybe one day I'll have enough to publish a book of Conversations With My Roommate.
Heidi: Hey, that can be your whatever it's called novel.
Me: Huh?
Heidi: What did Beau call it? Your NanoMonkey thing?
Me: It's not NanoMonkey!
Heidi: Whatever, at first I thought you were talking about some place in New York.
Me: What?
Heidi: Because of all the capital letters? Like SOHO?
Me: Oh my god. You did not just say that.
Heidi: Ha. Yeah, I did.
Me: I can't wait to tell the Internets.
For the record, I am not doing NaNoWriMo (it's not Nanomonkey, BEAU) or NaBloPoMo or NaNoPOOmo or whatever they're called. Not because I'm lazy, because I'm REALISTIC. What, stop laughing.
So, anyway, Heidi's making fun of me and we're both laughing and waving our arms around all "danger, danger Will Robinson!" and it's not until the light changes that I realize there is a guy in the lane next to us LAUGHING HIS ASS OFF. He hadn't even noticed that the light changed at first because he was too busy laughing at us. I was not embarrassed, just happy to bring a little bit of joy to someone in this cold, hard world. Then, at the grocery some old guy told us not to buy Kroger hamburger buns because he bought them once and they went bad in one day. I got a little offended that he was implying our buns were rotten, but I know he meant well. Also, at the grocery store Heidi was very proud of me because our total came to 69 dollars and I didn't yell, "HAHA 69!" or giggle even a little bit. Until we left the store, anyway.
On the way home, we totally solved some marriage problems, too. AND NOW, Conversations With My Roommate That My Family May Want to Never, Ever Read:
Heidi: I heard this lady on the radio today talking about how to talk to guys like a guy.
Me: Oh, yeah?
Heidi: Yeah, she said it works, too. Like, she stopped nagging her husband to do stuff and she'd just ask him once? And if he didn't do it, she'd be all, "Hey, stop being lazy and do this."
Me: So, basically, you just have to be mean to him?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: That doesn't sound healthy.
Heidi: No, but I guess it works.
Me: I think when I get married I'm going to trade sexual favors for chores.
Heidi: Haha, what, like one chore is worth two blowjobs?
Me: Well, it would depend on the chore. Like, mowing the lawn is three blowjobs, to be given at the recipient's convenience.
Heidi: Only, not consecutively.
Me: Obviously.
Heidi: You need resting time.
Me: Right. And if it's a small chore, like emptying the dishwasher? You get a handjob.
Heidi: I thought you were gonna say handshake.
Me: No, that's for something like, I don't know, opening the car door.
Heidi: Nice.
Me: Yeah, and for other small chores . . . I don't know.
Heidi: He could watch you undress!
Me: Haha, yeah . . . "ok, honey, I won't wear flannel pajamas tonight, I'll wear a nightie."
Heidi: This will help so many people.
Me: Yes, although they probably shouldn't take my advice, since I've never been married.
Heidi: So?
Me: By the way, this is so Conversations With My Roommate material.
Heidi: Yessssss.
Me: Maybe one day I'll have enough to publish a book of Conversations With My Roommate.
Heidi: Hey, that can be your whatever it's called novel.
Me: Huh?
Heidi: What did Beau call it? Your NanoMonkey thing?
Me: It's not NanoMonkey!
Heidi: Whatever, at first I thought you were talking about some place in New York.
Me: What?
Heidi: Because of all the capital letters? Like SOHO?
Me: Oh my god. You did not just say that.
Heidi: Ha. Yeah, I did.
Me: I can't wait to tell the Internets.
For the record, I am not doing NaNoWriMo (it's not Nanomonkey, BEAU) or NaBloPoMo or NaNoPOOmo or whatever they're called. Not because I'm lazy, because I'm REALISTIC. What, stop laughing.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
if I had a million dollars (if I had a million dollars), I'd buy you a green dress (but not a real green dress, that's cruel)
I think the people who work at Kroger are going to know me by name soon. I was just there on Sunday, I was there last night, and I'm going again tonight (yes, I plan trips to the grocery store, BITE oh and also ME). On Sunday, I bought the ingredients for the tortilla soup. Well, most of the ingredients. I forgot the tortilla crunchy things to put on top, which is one reason I was there last night. Another reason? I knew we were out of coffee creamer and seeing as how I had to be at work this morning at 6:45 (IN THE MORNING, DID YOU HEAR THAT?) I figured going without coffee was not an option. On a completely different note, I left work last night at 7:45 PM and got there at 6:45 AM this morning, meaning I was out of the office for a grand total of 11 hours. And most of those were spent either driving or sleeping. If that doesn't make you just a little bit sad for me, then please come here so I can kick you in the balls. Or ball-area. Hard.
Anyway, so while at Kroger I had to call my mom because I couldn't find the tortilla crunchies and if there is anyone who knows that particular Kroger better than me, it is my mom. She pointed me in the right direction, thankfully. They're above the salads, FYI, and maybe if I wasn't so goddamn short I would have noticed them during my ten minute stint of staring at the different packages, looking for the Lite Caesar Salad kits. Have you had those? They're phenomenal and since you have to mix it all together in a bowl I tell myself it's almost like I'm cooking. So, I got what I needed and headed to the checkout AKA Hell. Since every regular line was really long, and the 15 items or less lines were closed (seriously, wtf?), I went to the self checkout. OK, I normally go through the self checkout if I only have a few items, even if all the other lines are empty, because I really try to limit the amount of human interaction I have each day. Of course, I had to wait for the following Self-Checkout Monsters to finish before it was my turn:
Old Slowy Slowerson - She spent approximately 30 seconds examining each item before scanning it and placing it very gingerly in one of the plastic bags.
McBeersALot Lady - She bought a lot of beer. I'm not judging, it just takes extra time for her to show her ID to the cashier on duty (heh, DOODY) even though she is clearly 107 years old.
Guy with Full Cart - Look, Guy, you have approximately 73 items in your cart, you should not be in this line. Look at me. I am holding a package of salad, tortilla crunchies, and kitty litter. Who do you think is more appropriate for this line? Oh, good. You're paying in change, too. Die, please.
Two Girls Who Are Obviously High School Students and My God I Hope I Was Never That Annoying - Oh, wait for this. They rang their stuff up separately and while the second one was ringing her stuff up? She realized she forgot something so she sent her friend to go fetch it while a line of people formed behind her. I think I should be allowed to kill someone in situations like this.
So, finally, when McBeersALot Lady left to have a very pleasant and hazy evening, it was my turn. I scanned, bagged, and paid for my items in record time and even finished before Guy with Full Cart and Old Slowy Slowerson. I was even halfway home before I realized I'd forgotten the coffee creamer.
Anyway, so while at Kroger I had to call my mom because I couldn't find the tortilla crunchies and if there is anyone who knows that particular Kroger better than me, it is my mom. She pointed me in the right direction, thankfully. They're above the salads, FYI, and maybe if I wasn't so goddamn short I would have noticed them during my ten minute stint of staring at the different packages, looking for the Lite Caesar Salad kits. Have you had those? They're phenomenal and since you have to mix it all together in a bowl I tell myself it's almost like I'm cooking. So, I got what I needed and headed to the checkout AKA Hell. Since every regular line was really long, and the 15 items or less lines were closed (seriously, wtf?), I went to the self checkout. OK, I normally go through the self checkout if I only have a few items, even if all the other lines are empty, because I really try to limit the amount of human interaction I have each day. Of course, I had to wait for the following Self-Checkout Monsters to finish before it was my turn:
Old Slowy Slowerson - She spent approximately 30 seconds examining each item before scanning it and placing it very gingerly in one of the plastic bags.
McBeersALot Lady - She bought a lot of beer. I'm not judging, it just takes extra time for her to show her ID to the cashier on duty (heh, DOODY) even though she is clearly 107 years old.
Guy with Full Cart - Look, Guy, you have approximately 73 items in your cart, you should not be in this line. Look at me. I am holding a package of salad, tortilla crunchies, and kitty litter. Who do you think is more appropriate for this line? Oh, good. You're paying in change, too. Die, please.
Two Girls Who Are Obviously High School Students and My God I Hope I Was Never That Annoying - Oh, wait for this. They rang their stuff up separately and while the second one was ringing her stuff up? She realized she forgot something so she sent her friend to go fetch it while a line of people formed behind her. I think I should be allowed to kill someone in situations like this.
So, finally, when McBeersALot Lady left to have a very pleasant and hazy evening, it was my turn. I scanned, bagged, and paid for my items in record time and even finished before Guy with Full Cart and Old Slowy Slowerson. I was even halfway home before I realized I'd forgotten the coffee creamer.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
oh sweet alluring Baby Ruth, why must you tempt me so? but look yonder! it is frothy 3 Muskateers, come to rid me of your tempty tempting temptingness
I ate too much candy last night. My tummy still hurts.
But, seeing as how we had one trick-or-treater before we gave up on our apartment and went to poach trick-or-treaters at my parent's house, we still have a shit ton of candy. Which means lots of tummyaches to come. Oh, happy happy. Joy joy.
AND NOW . . . Conversations with my Roommate and Also the Cutest Little Spiderman in All the Land:
Spiderman: Trick-or-treat!
Me: Aww, you have been our only trick-or-treater tonight.
Spiderman: Oh.
Me: Wait, don't leave!
Heidi: Yeah, that just means you get a TON of candy!
Spiderman: Ok!
Me: Here you go.
Spiderman: WOW that is a ton!
Me: I know.
Spiderman: Have a happy Halloween!
Heidi: Oh my god, let's steal him.
And then we did. Did you know they let you post to your blog in jail? True story.
But, seeing as how we had one trick-or-treater before we gave up on our apartment and went to poach trick-or-treaters at my parent's house, we still have a shit ton of candy. Which means lots of tummyaches to come. Oh, happy happy. Joy joy.
AND NOW . . . Conversations with my Roommate and Also the Cutest Little Spiderman in All the Land:
Spiderman: Trick-or-treat!
Me: Aww, you have been our only trick-or-treater tonight.
Spiderman: Oh.
Me: Wait, don't leave!
Heidi: Yeah, that just means you get a TON of candy!
Spiderman: Ok!
Me: Here you go.
Spiderman: WOW that is a ton!
Me: I know.
Spiderman: Have a happy Halloween!
Heidi: Oh my god, let's steal him.
And then we did. Did you know they let you post to your blog in jail? True story.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)