Since I will be celebrating the new year in another time zone, I may not have access to The Internets, so let me take this moment to say . . . Happy New Year!
That's all I got. What do you want, it's 7 AM.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Friday, December 29, 2006
William Randolph Shakespeare once wrote in one of his plays, and I'm paraphrasing, "love doth be poison."
I bought a new mattress earlier this week and I took today off of work so I could be home for the delivery. What, it's not like they can leave it on the front porch and I can drag it up the stairs myself! I'm short and not very strong and mattresses are strange, unwieldy creatures. Luckily, when the guys came to deliver it they took my old mattress and box spring but, as my mom instructed me, I did not tell them that Phoebe had previously used the mattress for a toilet. They can figure that out on their own, you know, if they smell one side of it. It's gross, is what I'm saying, but no longer my problem. Oh. SNAP.
I was just reading the Do's and Dont's on the back of my warranty brochure. I mean, most of it is common sense, like don't light a fire near your bed and don't let dirty, little children pee on it. I don't have children, dirty or otherwise, and I hardly ever light fires in the house anymore, so I think I'm safe. My favorite, though? "Don't let anyone stand or jump on your mattress. It was not built for that kind of weight concentration or abuse." Probably I should have read that part sooner.
Since I had the rest of the day off, I've been pretty bored. I did a load of laundry, went to the ATM OK FINE and also to New York & Co, watched two episodes of House, drank half a pot of coffee, and now I'm in the middle of packing for Chicago. It's a long process. Anyway, here is what my bed looks like now:
I was just reading the Do's and Dont's on the back of my warranty brochure. I mean, most of it is common sense, like don't light a fire near your bed and don't let dirty, little children pee on it. I don't have children, dirty or otherwise, and I hardly ever light fires in the house anymore, so I think I'm safe. My favorite, though? "Don't let anyone stand or jump on your mattress. It was not built for that kind of weight concentration or abuse." Probably I should have read that part sooner.
Since I had the rest of the day off, I've been pretty bored. I did a load of laundry, went to the ATM OK FINE and also to New York & Co, watched two episodes of House, drank half a pot of coffee, and now I'm in the middle of packing for Chicago. It's a long process. Anyway, here is what my bed looks like now:
It looked a lot better before I threw all that shit all over it. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.
PS: You may ask yourself just how many pairs of black shoes one person needs to take on a two day trip to Chicago. The answer is: at least four, maybe more. It's easy to remember because it rhymes. FYI.
Why I will never be President (aside from all the incriminating pictures)
Coworker: When are you leaving for Chicago?
Me: On Saturday.
Coworker: So what are you doing for New Years Eve?
Me: . . . I'm going to Chicago.
Coworker: I mean, where are you going?
Me: Chicago.
Coworker: SLOW PERSON, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO IN CHICAGO?
Me: Oh. I don't know yet.
Heidi: Help me find a candle.
Me: Don't get this one, it smells like dead babies.
Me: On Saturday.
Coworker: So what are you doing for New Years Eve?
Me: . . . I'm going to Chicago.
Coworker: I mean, where are you going?
Me: Chicago.
Coworker: SLOW PERSON, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO IN CHICAGO?
Me: Oh. I don't know yet.
Heidi: Help me find a candle.
Me: Don't get this one, it smells like dead babies.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Conversations With My Roommate: The One Where Heidi Calls Herself a Fat Whore
At Target:
Heidi: Ooh, clearance!
Me: Score!
Heidi: Geez.
Me: Yeah, why are the only sizes left extra small or 17?
Heidi: I don't know. I feel like I could wear a size 17 right now.
Me: Um, ok.
Heidi: It's true. I'm a fat whore today.
Me: Nice! You have such high self esteem.
Heidi: I know.
In the pajama section:
Me: Oh, what do you think of this?
Heidi: It's pretty slutty.
Me: I know, but it's only 5 dollars.
Heidi: Now would be a good time to start dressing like a slut.
Me: I could wear it when I entertain my gentleman callers.
Heidi: Oh really?
Me: Yeah, I don't know if you'd noticed the line of guys outside my room.
Heidi: I thought I heard talking.
Me: Oh, we weren't talking.
Heidi: God, you're a slut.
Me: No, I'm a lady of the evening*. Only a lady of the evening has gentleman callers.
In the shoe section:
Heidi: Are these the hooker heels you wear to whore it up?
Me: Yes, I have them in red.
In the car:
Me: Hey, turn right here.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Drive where I tell you, Fat Whore!
Heidi: Haha.
Me: Can I call you that from now on?
Heidi: Sure.
Me: I can't wait til your mom comes over and I'm all "Hey, Fat Whore, are the dishes in the dishwasher clean?"
Heidi: She'll love that. And of course they're not clean.
Me: I wish I had a derogatory nickname.
Heidi: I'll try to think of one for you.
Me: How about Stupid Slutty Slutface?
Heidi: No.
Me: Pimply McGee?
Heidi: No.
Me: OK.
Heidi: I'm trying to think of something with the word "cheap" in it.
Me: Wow, thanks.
Heidi: No problem.
*I am not a lady of the evening
Heidi: Ooh, clearance!
Me: Score!
Heidi: Geez.
Me: Yeah, why are the only sizes left extra small or 17?
Heidi: I don't know. I feel like I could wear a size 17 right now.
Me: Um, ok.
Heidi: It's true. I'm a fat whore today.
Me: Nice! You have such high self esteem.
Heidi: I know.
In the pajama section:
Me: Oh, what do you think of this?
Heidi: It's pretty slutty.
Me: I know, but it's only 5 dollars.
Heidi: Now would be a good time to start dressing like a slut.
Me: I could wear it when I entertain my gentleman callers.
Heidi: Oh really?
Me: Yeah, I don't know if you'd noticed the line of guys outside my room.
Heidi: I thought I heard talking.
Me: Oh, we weren't talking.
Heidi: God, you're a slut.
Me: No, I'm a lady of the evening*. Only a lady of the evening has gentleman callers.
In the shoe section:
Heidi: Are these the hooker heels you wear to whore it up?
Me: Yes, I have them in red.
In the car:
Me: Hey, turn right here.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Drive where I tell you, Fat Whore!
Heidi: Haha.
Me: Can I call you that from now on?
Heidi: Sure.
Me: I can't wait til your mom comes over and I'm all "Hey, Fat Whore, are the dishes in the dishwasher clean?"
Heidi: She'll love that. And of course they're not clean.
Me: I wish I had a derogatory nickname.
Heidi: I'll try to think of one for you.
Me: How about Stupid Slutty Slutface?
Heidi: No.
Me: Pimply McGee?
Heidi: No.
Me: OK.
Heidi: I'm trying to think of something with the word "cheap" in it.
Me: Wow, thanks.
Heidi: No problem.
*I am not a lady of the evening
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
OCD + ADD = . . . I don't know, something bad
Most of the time, our apartment is cozily cluttered with magazines, mail, throw pillows, a random assortment of blankets, and lately, piles of Christmas cookies in cute little bags and tins. I do, however, sometimes experience a slight case of OCD and feel the need to clean. This does not happen often, but when it does, I find it hard to concentrate on anything important (like TiVo) if, I don't know, there's a random pair of shoes (usually mine) lying all haphazardly at the foot of the stairs. However, this OCD coupled with my everyday (undiagnosed) ADD cause me to clean in the most roundabout fashion imaginable.
FOR INSTANCE, I begin the cleaning process by starting a load of laundry. While in the laundry room, I find the Febreze, which makes me want to spray it on every surface until the apartment smells like a sweet, heavenly garden. Before I can spray Febreze, though, I realize I need to vacuum, but before I vacuum I have to dust. While looking for the dusting cloths, I find toilet cleaner and remember that it's been [insert embarrassing amount of time here] since I've cleaned my bathroom. I put toilet bowl cleaner in the toilet and scrub the sink and shower. I will now forget I have put toilet bowl cleaner in the toilet bowl until the next time I have to pee, open the lid, and wonder why the toilet water is bright blue. Around this time, I realize I need to clean the litter box, which means I have to take a trip to the dumpster, which means I will try to gather up every piece of garbage in our apartment because I try to make trips to the dumpster as infrequent as possible. After the dumpster, I wash my hands in the kitchen and realize the dishwasher needs unloaded. Undoubtedly, the dishwasher has failed to actually CLEAN the dishes, but instead of washing them by hand I run them through another cycle. By now, I remember that I need to set up coffee and make my lunch for the next day. While putting things back in the refrigerator, I notice the Brita pitcher needs refilled so I stick that in the sink, run some water in it, and walk away. Now, I can dust and vacuum but when I reach my room I notice that, well, it's a fucking mess so I stack all the messy piles of paper and mail into neater piles of paper and mail, put the clean laundry away that has been sitting folded and pretty in the laundry basket for a week, and make my bed. Then I think "wow, I haven't posted anything in my blog for a while," sit down, and lose an hour to the Internets*. Now I have to pee but when I get to the bathroom I find the toilet still full of toilet bowl cleaner so I have to clean it. I then finish vacuuming and spray the shit out of our apartment with Febreze. When I go to put the Febreze back in the laundry room, I realize the laundry I put in the washer has been done for an hour and a half and is now ready to be put in the dryer. When I open the dryer, I find a load of laundry I'd put in and forgotten about two days before, fold it, and put it in the laundry basket on my bedroom floor that will be horribly neglected until my next bout of OCD. The End. It's kind of like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, but really more like If You Wave Something Shiny at Jennie**.
Oh, and I'll also forget about the Brita pitcher in the sink for at least an hour.
*by the way, this is the stage I am at now
**as far as I know, this title is unpublished
FOR INSTANCE, I begin the cleaning process by starting a load of laundry. While in the laundry room, I find the Febreze, which makes me want to spray it on every surface until the apartment smells like a sweet, heavenly garden. Before I can spray Febreze, though, I realize I need to vacuum, but before I vacuum I have to dust. While looking for the dusting cloths, I find toilet cleaner and remember that it's been [insert embarrassing amount of time here] since I've cleaned my bathroom. I put toilet bowl cleaner in the toilet and scrub the sink and shower. I will now forget I have put toilet bowl cleaner in the toilet bowl until the next time I have to pee, open the lid, and wonder why the toilet water is bright blue. Around this time, I realize I need to clean the litter box, which means I have to take a trip to the dumpster, which means I will try to gather up every piece of garbage in our apartment because I try to make trips to the dumpster as infrequent as possible. After the dumpster, I wash my hands in the kitchen and realize the dishwasher needs unloaded. Undoubtedly, the dishwasher has failed to actually CLEAN the dishes, but instead of washing them by hand I run them through another cycle. By now, I remember that I need to set up coffee and make my lunch for the next day. While putting things back in the refrigerator, I notice the Brita pitcher needs refilled so I stick that in the sink, run some water in it, and walk away. Now, I can dust and vacuum but when I reach my room I notice that, well, it's a fucking mess so I stack all the messy piles of paper and mail into neater piles of paper and mail, put the clean laundry away that has been sitting folded and pretty in the laundry basket for a week, and make my bed. Then I think "wow, I haven't posted anything in my blog for a while," sit down, and lose an hour to the Internets*. Now I have to pee but when I get to the bathroom I find the toilet still full of toilet bowl cleaner so I have to clean it. I then finish vacuuming and spray the shit out of our apartment with Febreze. When I go to put the Febreze back in the laundry room, I realize the laundry I put in the washer has been done for an hour and a half and is now ready to be put in the dryer. When I open the dryer, I find a load of laundry I'd put in and forgotten about two days before, fold it, and put it in the laundry basket on my bedroom floor that will be horribly neglected until my next bout of OCD. The End. It's kind of like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, but really more like If You Wave Something Shiny at Jennie**.
Oh, and I'll also forget about the Brita pitcher in the sink for at least an hour.
*by the way, this is the stage I am at now
**as far as I know, this title is unpublished
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
But you ain't got no legs, Lieutenant Dan.
I would like to introduce you, Internets, to the Greatest Christmas Present In All The Land:
I feel kind of bad for replacing the MacGyver Coffeemaker for a younger, newer, sleeker model, but . . . OK, no I don't. This means I don't have to run out to the kitchen in a towel, still dripping wet from my shower, in order to strategically place a tiny piece of tape over the on/off switch so it is held in the exact right position. Pain in the ass. Anyway. I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas and Santa was good to you. Also, I hope you managed to catch at least 14 hours of A Christmas Story because nothing says Christmas more than a Red Ryder BB Gun. Except maybe this:
Yep. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like Red Sangria. From a box.
Yes, it is a mini-ping-pong table. Yes, it is MY mini-ping-pong table. Actually, it's technically called Keg Pong (yes, my parents bought me a drinking game for Christmas) but on the box it says "You can also play Ping-Pong!" which my dad and I did, until breakfast was ready because cinnamon rolls beat ping-pong HANDS DOWN KICKS ITS ASS. Ahem.
ALSO, I got this:
to replace THIS:
so I no longer have to do THIS:
I feel kind of bad for replacing the MacGyver Coffeemaker for a younger, newer, sleeker model, but . . . OK, no I don't. This means I don't have to run out to the kitchen in a towel, still dripping wet from my shower, in order to strategically place a tiny piece of tape over the on/off switch so it is held in the exact right position. Pain in the ass. Anyway. I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas and Santa was good to you. Also, I hope you managed to catch at least 14 hours of A Christmas Story because nothing says Christmas more than a Red Ryder BB Gun. Except maybe this:Yep. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like Red Sangria. From a box.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Only I didn't say Fudge. I said THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the F-dash-dash-dash word!
In case I forget tomorrow, Merry Christmas, Internets! I hope Santa brings you everything you asked for and then some. And remember, don't stick your tongue to an icy pole even if you're triple dog dared to. TRUST ME.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
You seem a little irritable, Kyle. You got some sand in your vagina?
For some reason I woke up at 8:30 this morning. ON A SATURDAY. That is so not right and really unlike me. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that I went to bed before midnight last night. That is so not right and also, again, really unlike me. I blame the cold medicine. The cold medicine is being blamed for a lot. Unusual sleeping patterns, long rants that go nowhere, hitting that old man with my car. Really, none of it is my fault.
Remember that one time I went to Chicago for New Year's Eve? Well, we're doing it again, only this time Mary lives in the city so who knows what will happen.
I'm killing time now before I go get my hair cut. Usually this is a painful process, but this time I am prepared. A couple nights ago I went over to my parents' house with a bunch of different hair style pictures so my mom could help me pick one. Because this is the kind of decision I am incapable of making for myself and left to my own devices I wait until I am in the salon and pick the first picture that appeals to me. That is not a decision that should be made so hastily. My dad asked why I was getting my hair cut when I had already decided to let it grow and I had to SIGH try and explain the crazy girl hair rules that you need to cut your hair to make it grow faster and then my mom told me not to waste my time because HELLO Dad doesn't have any hair. Which seemed a little harsh to me, but they've been married for 26 (right?) years so they must be doing something right. Anyway. What was I talking about? Oh, right, my hair.
Screw it, it's not important. After I get my hair cut I'm going over to my grandma's to celebrate Christmas with my dad's side of the family. I kind of hope everyone left the board games at home this year*, last year things got a little out of hand.
*No, I don't. BRING IT.
Remember that one time I went to Chicago for New Year's Eve? Well, we're doing it again, only this time Mary lives in the city so who knows what will happen.
I'm killing time now before I go get my hair cut. Usually this is a painful process, but this time I am prepared. A couple nights ago I went over to my parents' house with a bunch of different hair style pictures so my mom could help me pick one. Because this is the kind of decision I am incapable of making for myself and left to my own devices I wait until I am in the salon and pick the first picture that appeals to me. That is not a decision that should be made so hastily. My dad asked why I was getting my hair cut when I had already decided to let it grow and I had to SIGH try and explain the crazy girl hair rules that you need to cut your hair to make it grow faster and then my mom told me not to waste my time because HELLO Dad doesn't have any hair. Which seemed a little harsh to me, but they've been married for 26 (right?) years so they must be doing something right. Anyway. What was I talking about? Oh, right, my hair.
Screw it, it's not important. After I get my hair cut I'm going over to my grandma's to celebrate Christmas with my dad's side of the family. I kind of hope everyone left the board games at home this year*, last year things got a little out of hand.
*No, I don't. BRING IT.
Friday, December 22, 2006
I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!
So, I'm done with all my Christmas shopping, everything is wrapped, I still have a cold and sound like a man, and yet here I sit, waiting for Heidi to get home so we can head over to Hell -- I mean The Mall. And it was my idea! WTF, I ask you? Double-you. Tee. Eff.
Are you going to tell me that Stevie Wonder doesn’t love his wife just because he’s not sure what she looks like?
I am feeling much better today. I'm at work for a couple hours, babysitting the office by myself while the cleaning people . . . clean. I had to be here to let them in and, I don't know, make sure they don't steal our dental tools. I guess we have this one thing that makes a really good roach clip. Who knew? I'm not implying that our cleaning people are pot heads, YOU JUST NEVER KNOW. Your grandma could be a pothead, you don't know. Don't give me some sob story about glaucoma, either, BECAUSE I DON'T BUY IT. Wow. OK. I'm gonna blame that on the cold medicine.
The cleaning people aren't here yet. I wish they were, because the sooner they get here, the sooner I can leave. And I have to go to the post office. THE POST OFFICE, people, on Christmas Eve Eve . . . Eve. Someone may die, that's all I'm saying. I suppose I could wait until after Christmas to mail this (it's a birthday present) but it's already like two weeks late. Beau, why were you born so close to Christmas? You know I procrastinate. You knew this would happen, didn't you? Rude.
Speaking of Christmas, I think I got slapped in the face with the Christmas spirit today on the way to work! I heard this song and I'm not gonna say I didn't sing along loudly and also pretend to have a microphone but if I did say that I wouldn't be lying. Then I got out of my car with all my happy Christmas feelings and stepped in a giant puddle of grinchitude because A) it is raining and B) it is 55 degrees outside. I like 55 degrees, I really do, but not at Christmas! Christmas should be cold and if there is any precipitation whatsoever it should be in white, fluffy SNOW form. Everyone knows that.
Anyway. I forgot that today after work I'm also supposed to drop off some candy at a dentist's office (as a thank you? happy holidays? dunno). I wish I'd remembered that before I got dressed this morning, because nothing says "professional" like THIS SHIRT. Sigh.
The cleaning people aren't here yet. I wish they were, because the sooner they get here, the sooner I can leave. And I have to go to the post office. THE POST OFFICE, people, on Christmas Eve Eve . . . Eve. Someone may die, that's all I'm saying. I suppose I could wait until after Christmas to mail this (it's a birthday present) but it's already like two weeks late. Beau, why were you born so close to Christmas? You know I procrastinate. You knew this would happen, didn't you? Rude.
Speaking of Christmas, I think I got slapped in the face with the Christmas spirit today on the way to work! I heard this song and I'm not gonna say I didn't sing along loudly and also pretend to have a microphone but if I did say that I wouldn't be lying. Then I got out of my car with all my happy Christmas feelings and stepped in a giant puddle of grinchitude because A) it is raining and B) it is 55 degrees outside. I like 55 degrees, I really do, but not at Christmas! Christmas should be cold and if there is any precipitation whatsoever it should be in white, fluffy SNOW form. Everyone knows that.
Anyway. I forgot that today after work I'm also supposed to drop off some candy at a dentist's office (as a thank you? happy holidays? dunno). I wish I'd remembered that before I got dressed this morning, because nothing says "professional" like THIS SHIRT. Sigh.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
also she hogs the bed
You know, sometimes? When I'm cleaning up cat vomit or scooping poo from the litter box or wondering who is making that godawful strangled-baby meowing noise at 4 AM? I wonder why I ever got a cat.
It's when she spends twenty minutes swimming in the cat nip I spread on the floor and generally looking like she wants to make sweet love to the carpet that I remember. Entertainment value.
It's when she spends twenty minutes swimming in the cat nip I spread on the floor and generally looking like she wants to make sweet love to the carpet that I remember. Entertainment value.
sick, send Christmas cookies*
I'm sick. Cough. Not throwing up sick, thank god, but snotty-coughy-sneezy-sore-throat-voice-like-Kathleen Turner sick, which is not fun either. I think I have a fever, but I'm not sure because, although I am a grown up adult type person, I do not own a thermometer. I think I slept for twelve hours last night and yet I still have dark circles under my eyes and actually kind of look like I've been hit by a truck and then run over by a little kid on a tricycle a few times for good measure. I'm sorry if that made no sense. NO I'M NOT. It's hard to concentrate when you feel like your head is floating three feet above your body. Can you say drama queen? I can.
I'm really regretting not getting that free flu shot my doctor offered me, thinking my superior genes and healthy lifestyle (haha, oh god seriously, ha) would fend off any flu-like symptoms. I must have forgotten about the 60+ filthy vermin (children) that filter through our office each and every day. Stupid, dirty kids. I hate you. Just kidding. Mostly.
Luckily, I had today off of work. So, now I can spend the day braless and in my pajamas, lying on the couch watching TiVo and Love, Actually (what, it's Christmas) which, really, is probably what I would have done anyway. Only now I don't have to feel bad about spending my day off as a useless blob on the couch, because I'm a snotty blob and who wants to see that?
*No, don't, between gifts from Heidi's mom and my mom, we have 70,000 cookies in our apartment right now
I'm really regretting not getting that free flu shot my doctor offered me, thinking my superior genes and healthy lifestyle (haha, oh god seriously, ha) would fend off any flu-like symptoms. I must have forgotten about the 60+ filthy vermin (children) that filter through our office each and every day. Stupid, dirty kids. I hate you. Just kidding. Mostly.
Luckily, I had today off of work. So, now I can spend the day braless and in my pajamas, lying on the couch watching TiVo and Love, Actually (what, it's Christmas) which, really, is probably what I would have done anyway. Only now I don't have to feel bad about spending my day off as a useless blob on the couch, because I'm a snotty blob and who wants to see that?
*No, don't, between gifts from Heidi's mom and my mom, we have 70,000 cookies in our apartment right now
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Merry Christmas, assholes! (just kidding, I love you guys)
For some reason I have been listening to Christmas music whenever I have the radio on, in an attempt to force the Christmas spirit down my throat. It's not really working, partly because of Delilah (click here to read my thoughts on that slutbag) but also because for every song that comes on that I do like, there are like three others that make me want to shove something rusty and sharp in my ear. Songs such as "The Christmas Shoes," for instance, about the guy who gets suckered into buying some shoes for this kid's dying mother so she looks good when she meets Jesus. I wish the guy had bought the kid some food or some therapy instead. Jesus doesn't care what kind of shoes you wear when you get to heaven. Did Jesus even wear shoes? Sandals? And where is this kid's dad? Poor kid's just out wandering random stores (I picture him at Wal-mart) by himself on Christmas Eve? WTF? Also, it's kind of presumptuous for that kid to assume his mom is going to Heaven. Like, maybe he should be buying her some slutty, red heels if you know what I'm saying and I think you do. (I think that comment just got me a permanent spot on the Naughty List . . . FINALLY)
Another song I hate? That one about the Soldier's Silent Night or whatever? Where the old guy like recites a poem along to some slow, sad music. SHUT UP, old guy! This has less to do with the actual content of the song and more to do with my absolute hatred of people slow talking along to music and calling it a song.
Frosty the Snowman? I hate that cold, snowy bastard, too. He comes to life when you give him a hat? Does that not scare the shit out of anyone else? Judge me all you want, but he is like a SNOW ZOMBIE. The only way to kill him is to take off his hat or, you know, make the sun come out. That song makes me want to go on a rampage with a blowtorch, melting carefully constructed snowmen as I go before they can spontaneously reanimate themselves.
I also hate the little drummer boy. Who the hell plays the drums for a BABY? I bet Mary had just gotten Jesus to go to sleep and then this little asshole comes in with a drum and wakes him up. Do you think just because he's the son of God he doesn't need his sleep? Well, you are WRONG.
The song I loathe the most, though? The 12 Days of Christmas, which does, in fact, last twelve days. Every time I hear "five golden rings" all stretched out and loud and obnoxious I want to drive my car into a ditch. I will give special exception to the Muppet version, but that's only because I heart Beaker. WHO DOESN'T?
Um. OK, I know I sound like a total Grinch right now, but I can't help it. It's genetic. It's not that there aren't songs that fill my three-sizes-too-small heart with joy, they're just few and far between the songs that make me want to kill someone. If you see a murderous look in my eye, simply play one of the following songs:
Another song I hate? That one about the Soldier's Silent Night or whatever? Where the old guy like recites a poem along to some slow, sad music. SHUT UP, old guy! This has less to do with the actual content of the song and more to do with my absolute hatred of people slow talking along to music and calling it a song.
Frosty the Snowman? I hate that cold, snowy bastard, too. He comes to life when you give him a hat? Does that not scare the shit out of anyone else? Judge me all you want, but he is like a SNOW ZOMBIE. The only way to kill him is to take off his hat or, you know, make the sun come out. That song makes me want to go on a rampage with a blowtorch, melting carefully constructed snowmen as I go before they can spontaneously reanimate themselves.
I also hate the little drummer boy. Who the hell plays the drums for a BABY? I bet Mary had just gotten Jesus to go to sleep and then this little asshole comes in with a drum and wakes him up. Do you think just because he's the son of God he doesn't need his sleep? Well, you are WRONG.
The song I loathe the most, though? The 12 Days of Christmas, which does, in fact, last twelve days. Every time I hear "five golden rings" all stretched out and loud and obnoxious I want to drive my car into a ditch. I will give special exception to the Muppet version, but that's only because I heart Beaker. WHO DOESN'T?
Um. OK, I know I sound like a total Grinch right now, but I can't help it. It's genetic. It's not that there aren't songs that fill my three-sizes-too-small heart with joy, they're just few and far between the songs that make me want to kill someone. If you see a murderous look in my eye, simply play one of the following songs:
- Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
- The Hippo Song (duh)
- I don't know, whatever song that was in Sleepless in Seattle that Meg Ryan was singing in the car? I don't remember what it was, I just like singing "horses, horses, horses, horses" WOW
- The Mariah Carey tour de force, All I Want for Christmas Is You (it's true)
- O, Holy Night, but only sung by Cartman
and I will be lulled to a calm, deep sleep. See? I'm not a complete Grinch. Yet.
PS: My mom commented on my blog. Because my parents are cool like that. Sometimes I think of the kind of stuff I write on here knowing most of my family is going to read it and I wonder how much farther over the line I'd go if they didn't read it. We're probably better off not knowing.
Monday, December 18, 2006
I see a little silhouetto of a man
I think I've mentioned this, but the doctor I work for has two offices and to get to one, I drive by Giant Jesus. Come on. You know Giant Jesus by now. I only talk about him ALL THE TIME and it's not because I have nothing else to talk about, it's because I find Giant Jesus to be awesome. Who doesn't? I bet it makes all the other states jealous, ESPECIALLY Utah. I don't know why.
Anyway, we worked in that office today, but won't be back until after the first of the year, so I made sure to wish Jesus a happy birthday as I drove by this evening. And that made me think of that one year my grandma bought a cake that said "Happy Birthday, Jesus" on it. I hope she bought another one this year, but considering how much shit we gave her for the first one I really doubt that's a possibility.
On the way to work today, this car in front of me was from Michigan and he almost drove off the road trying to gawk at Giant Jesus. I started to laugh and then about thirty seconds later I almost drove off the road trying to turn up the volume because Bohemian Rhapsody had just come on the radio. CARma. Haha. Get it?
I suck.
Anyway, we worked in that office today, but won't be back until after the first of the year, so I made sure to wish Jesus a happy birthday as I drove by this evening. And that made me think of that one year my grandma bought a cake that said "Happy Birthday, Jesus" on it. I hope she bought another one this year, but considering how much shit we gave her for the first one I really doubt that's a possibility.
On the way to work today, this car in front of me was from Michigan and he almost drove off the road trying to gawk at Giant Jesus. I started to laugh and then about thirty seconds later I almost drove off the road trying to turn up the volume because Bohemian Rhapsody had just come on the radio. CARma. Haha. Get it?
I suck.
who knows where thoughts come from, they just appear
Guys, I'm a little worried about my brain. I mean more so than usual. I've been having some pretty weird, vivid dreams lately. There was that whole "erasing of the books" thing the other night, and the night before last I dreamt that I had a baby, and I was changing its (don't even know if it was a boy or a girl, AWESOME) diaper in the front yard (?) and I realized I had forgotten something inside and while I was inside getting it someone kidnapped my baby. I spent the rest of the movie, I mean dream, trying to convince a hard-knock detective to help me search for it. I don't remember if we did or not. I think that dream just reiterates the fact that I'm not ready to have children. Thanks, brain, I already knew that. And last night, I dreamt that I went back to my high school as an assistant teacher and my old English teacher took me under her wing and told me all the school secrets. OK, as cool as it would be to get all the dirt on my former teachers, I think we can all agree that I should not be shaping the minds of future generations.
GUYS, guess what! I am done Christmas shopping, oh, and also wrapping presents. I finished it all yesterday and I didn't kill or maim one. Single. Person. Do you realize what this means? I have an entire week left until Christmas and I am completely ready! It's a Christmas miracle!
Maybe you don't understand what a big deal this is. Maybe you're underestimating how much I procrastinate. Well, on Saturday my friends and I did our gift exchange and one of the gifts (the one I gave, because I am an awesome gift-giver, suck it) was this game called Catchphrase. The game gives you a word or a phrase and you have to describe it and give hints without saying any of the words. Kind of like that game show. What's it called. Pyramid? I don't know. Anyway. I was in the kitchen playing beer bitch, when I hear Steph describing her word, "My name is Jennie and I do this a lot," [aside, things were said here that were borderline inappropriate] and anyway, in the end the answer was Procrastinate. So there! I've been used as a hint in a game, what have YOU ever done. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so cranky. Oh, right, Christmas. And it's Monday. I've been trying to force the Christmas spirit upon myself, with the Christmas decorating and the music and the giant tree up at The Greene, but it's not working. Maybe I'm trying too hard.
Saturday night after the gift exchange, we went to this kind of seedy bar where there was a mostly drunk band playing. I went to the bathroom and some guy wearing a sweatsuit and gold grill chased me in with shouts of "Ma'am! Hey, baby! Ma'am!" like, dude, even if you didn't have a sweatsuit and fake teeth you just Ma'amed me. That is so not a turn on.
GUYS, guess what! I am done Christmas shopping, oh, and also wrapping presents. I finished it all yesterday and I didn't kill or maim one. Single. Person. Do you realize what this means? I have an entire week left until Christmas and I am completely ready! It's a Christmas miracle!
Maybe you don't understand what a big deal this is. Maybe you're underestimating how much I procrastinate. Well, on Saturday my friends and I did our gift exchange and one of the gifts (the one I gave, because I am an awesome gift-giver, suck it) was this game called Catchphrase. The game gives you a word or a phrase and you have to describe it and give hints without saying any of the words. Kind of like that game show. What's it called. Pyramid? I don't know. Anyway. I was in the kitchen playing beer bitch, when I hear Steph describing her word, "My name is Jennie and I do this a lot," [aside, things were said here that were borderline inappropriate] and anyway, in the end the answer was Procrastinate. So there! I've been used as a hint in a game, what have YOU ever done. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so cranky. Oh, right, Christmas. And it's Monday. I've been trying to force the Christmas spirit upon myself, with the Christmas decorating and the music and the giant tree up at The Greene, but it's not working. Maybe I'm trying too hard.
Saturday night after the gift exchange, we went to this kind of seedy bar where there was a mostly drunk band playing. I went to the bathroom and some guy wearing a sweatsuit and gold grill chased me in with shouts of "Ma'am! Hey, baby! Ma'am!" like, dude, even if you didn't have a sweatsuit and fake teeth you just Ma'amed me. That is so not a turn on.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Oh, no. I did that for someone once. I'm not comfortable having that kind of power and control over someone's life.
In case anyone was worried or wondering or doesn't really care but is mildly interested because it's Saturday morning/afternoon and really you're just killing time until you go to the bar? I found a gift for the gift exchange yesterday. Actually, Heidi told me to get it because I couldn't find anything I wanted for under $20 and I really, really didn't want to go to another store. It reminded me of a couple of months ago when I told Heidi and Mary they were in charge of all of my decisions. Really. Like that Friends episode. You know the one. Anyway, it was nice not to make decisions but then I realized it wasn't always necessarily producing the outcome I wanted. Actually, it really only lasted for a couple of decisions and then we completely forgot about it. Truth.
How sad is this? Last night, around midnight my parents stopped by on their way home from dinner and drinks. I was in my pajamas watching TiVo. On a Friday night. I don't care. Judge me all you want, my pajamas are way comfortable. Anyway, while they were here my dad fixed the chair that has been semi-erect for the past couple of months. My dad can MacGyver anything. Truth.
I am drinking coffee out of a Santa Claus coffee mug and I'm wondering where the hell it came from. I think it's mine. All the other coffee mugs were dirty and really it's a bit late in the morning to be drinking coffee but I don't care cause it's delicious. Want to know what else is delicious? Christmas cookies for breakfast. Truth.
Earlier this morning, my cell phone rang and a weird number came up. So I didn't answer it. I looked up the area code and it was somewhere in Texas. I don't know anyone in Texas. I was glad they called, though, because I was having a nightmare about this place where people could take books to get completely erased? And every time a book was erased the author of the book died. Because I have nightmares about books. Also zombies. ANYWAY. You know, I have this really bad habit of not answering my cell phone. Sometimes I worry that I'm missing an important call from like, someone from the future telling me how to stop the world from horribly exploding and thus preventing, you know, all the death and whatnot and then I realize I need to stop watching so much TV. Truth.
How sad is this? Last night, around midnight my parents stopped by on their way home from dinner and drinks. I was in my pajamas watching TiVo. On a Friday night. I don't care. Judge me all you want, my pajamas are way comfortable. Anyway, while they were here my dad fixed the chair that has been semi-erect for the past couple of months. My dad can MacGyver anything. Truth.
I am drinking coffee out of a Santa Claus coffee mug and I'm wondering where the hell it came from. I think it's mine. All the other coffee mugs were dirty and really it's a bit late in the morning to be drinking coffee but I don't care cause it's delicious. Want to know what else is delicious? Christmas cookies for breakfast. Truth.
Earlier this morning, my cell phone rang and a weird number came up. So I didn't answer it. I looked up the area code and it was somewhere in Texas. I don't know anyone in Texas. I was glad they called, though, because I was having a nightmare about this place where people could take books to get completely erased? And every time a book was erased the author of the book died. Because I have nightmares about books. Also zombies. ANYWAY. You know, I have this really bad habit of not answering my cell phone. Sometimes I worry that I'm missing an important call from like, someone from the future telling me how to stop the world from horribly exploding and thus preventing, you know, all the death and whatnot and then I realize I need to stop watching so much TV. Truth.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Help me, Internets, you're my only hope! (I have so used a variation of this title at least 14 times . . . lazy)
You guys know how I procrastinate, right? If not . . . hi, I'm Jennie. I procrastinate. I also harbor an unhealthy crush on this man and drink and fall down quite a bit. Oh, and I say inappropriate things in public, like "ovaries" and "butt sex." It's true. Ask Heidi. Anyway, nice to meet you.
Tomorrow my friends and I are exchanging gifts. Secret Santa, White Elephant, call it what you will. I will be calling it YANKEE SWAP until everyone gets so annoyed with me that they lock me outside on the porch. Whatever. I can still yell it through the window. I'm loud. Ask anyone.
So, I still haven't gotten a gift for the gift exchange. I don't know if you remember, but I asked for your advice, Internets, and you totally let me down. OK, I know it's not fair for me to blame my gift-buying ineptitude on you. I'm sorry. But seriously, throw me a bone here. I have an idea of something to get, but I don't know if I can find it for under $20. By tomorrow. Shit. So, PLEASE, Internets, give me some suggestions. Otherwise, someone tomorrow is going to open their present to find a bottle of tequila, a lemon, and a salt shaker.
Actually, I'd be pretty psyched to get that gift. Hmm.
Tomorrow my friends and I are exchanging gifts. Secret Santa, White Elephant, call it what you will. I will be calling it YANKEE SWAP until everyone gets so annoyed with me that they lock me outside on the porch. Whatever. I can still yell it through the window. I'm loud. Ask anyone.
So, I still haven't gotten a gift for the gift exchange. I don't know if you remember, but I asked for your advice, Internets, and you totally let me down. OK, I know it's not fair for me to blame my gift-buying ineptitude on you. I'm sorry. But seriously, throw me a bone here. I have an idea of something to get, but I don't know if I can find it for under $20. By tomorrow. Shit. So, PLEASE, Internets, give me some suggestions. Otherwise, someone tomorrow is going to open their present to find a bottle of tequila, a lemon, and a salt shaker.
Actually, I'd be pretty psyched to get that gift. Hmm.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
meow
Out of all my coworkers, I am the youngest. I am also the only one who is not married and has never been married. I am ALSO the only one without any children. Today, one of my coworkers stroked my head and told me I have very shiny hair.
Sometimes I worry that my coworkers think of me as some kind of pet.
Sometimes I worry that my coworkers think of me as some kind of pet.
i'll sleep when i'm dead
I think my body is trying to see how little sleep I can function on before I a) crumple into a delicious, delicious nap on my desk, b) kill a patient with my BARE HANDS, c) hallucinate that I am being attacked by zombies, accidentally killing a patient and then crumpling into a delicious, delicious nap on my desk. I'm leaning toward c.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Conversations With My Mother
Or, My Stupidity Reaches New Levels . . .
Me: I have to go to Bath & Body Works to buy a gift.
Mom: Ooh.
Me: Yeah, our work gift exchange is tomorrow and I haven't gotten my person a gift yet.
Mom: Jennifer Lynn.
Me: I know.
Mom: You know, procrastinating won't make it go away.
Me: I've been busy!
Mom: Uh-huh.
Me: Whatever, I have.
Mom: Which Bath & Body Works are you going to?
Me: Probably the one in Town & Country, cause I don't want to fight the assholes at the Dayton Mall right now. I'm pretty tired.
Mom: Jennie . . .
Me: Town & Country won't be too busy, right?
Mom: Jennie.
Me: What?
Mom: Why don't you go to the Bath & Body Works at The Greene?
Me: Oh, you mean that really cute mall that is right by my apartment and on my way home?
Mom: Yes.
Me: Because I forgot there was one in there.
Mom: Thought so.
Me: What's even worse is I was there last night and walked by Bath & Body Works at least twice.
Mom: Oh, Jennie.
Me: Please don't tell anyone how stupid I am.
Mom: OK.
Me: Cause I want to do it.
And then? When I got to The Greene? I walked around and around and around because I couldn't remember where the store was even though last night we walked around and around and around the entire place and I should have had the layout memorized. I even checked the information map and still couldn't find it. I mean, if the map had said "next to the elephant statues covered in twinkly lights that Heidi dared you to climb" then I could have easily found it BUT IT DIDN'T SAY THAT.
Also, I was just wrapping presents so I thought I'd turn on some Christmas music to get me, YOU KNOW, in the mood. I don't know if you have Delilah in your neck of the woods, but her show is on the All Christmas Station right now (ALSO SHE SUCKS AND I HATE HER) and I began to suspect that the Christmas music wasn't having the intended effect on my mood when I told Delilah to, and I quote, "shut the fuck up and play fucking jingle bells."
Me: I have to go to Bath & Body Works to buy a gift.
Mom: Ooh.
Me: Yeah, our work gift exchange is tomorrow and I haven't gotten my person a gift yet.
Mom: Jennifer Lynn.
Me: I know.
Mom: You know, procrastinating won't make it go away.
Me: I've been busy!
Mom: Uh-huh.
Me: Whatever, I have.
Mom: Which Bath & Body Works are you going to?
Me: Probably the one in Town & Country, cause I don't want to fight the assholes at the Dayton Mall right now. I'm pretty tired.
Mom: Jennie . . .
Me: Town & Country won't be too busy, right?
Mom: Jennie.
Me: What?
Mom: Why don't you go to the Bath & Body Works at The Greene?
Me: Oh, you mean that really cute mall that is right by my apartment and on my way home?
Mom: Yes.
Me: Because I forgot there was one in there.
Mom: Thought so.
Me: What's even worse is I was there last night and walked by Bath & Body Works at least twice.
Mom: Oh, Jennie.
Me: Please don't tell anyone how stupid I am.
Mom: OK.
Me: Cause I want to do it.
And then? When I got to The Greene? I walked around and around and around because I couldn't remember where the store was even though last night we walked around and around and around the entire place and I should have had the layout memorized. I even checked the information map and still couldn't find it. I mean, if the map had said "next to the elephant statues covered in twinkly lights that Heidi dared you to climb" then I could have easily found it BUT IT DIDN'T SAY THAT.
Also, I was just wrapping presents so I thought I'd turn on some Christmas music to get me, YOU KNOW, in the mood. I don't know if you have Delilah in your neck of the woods, but her show is on the All Christmas Station right now (ALSO SHE SUCKS AND I HATE HER) and I began to suspect that the Christmas music wasn't having the intended effect on my mood when I told Delilah to, and I quote, "shut the fuck up and play fucking jingle bells."
Fate loves the fearless (even if you might get axe murdered)
Internets, you never fail to surprise me. I came home from Columbus on Sunday and noticed that I had a Gmail chat (seriously, look into it) message from Kat. You know Kat. Don't pretend you don't know Kat or I will cut you. Anyway, the message said her friend Ferdinand (aside from Kat's and my own, I have changed the names in the story to protect the innocent . . . or whatever) was going to be in Dayton for a couple days and would I like to get a drink with him. I then had the following conversation with my brain and don't even pretend you don't do the same when people aren't looking, only with your brain instead of mine because if you're having conversations with my brain, I'm sorry, but that is REALLY weird. Anyway:
Jennie: Well, Brain, what should I do?
Brain: I'm tired.
Jennie: I don't care.
Brain: Lemme alone.
Jennie: BRAIN, WAKE UP.
Brain: OK, OK.
Jennie: What should I do?
Brain: Just do it.
Jennie: Do you even know what I'm talking about?
Brain: No.
Jennie: Sigh.
Brain: OK, fine. Here are your options. Do it. Don't do it.
Jennie: Hmm, sounds simple enough.
Brain: If you do it, you might get axe murdered.
Jennie: I hardly think Kat's friend is an axe murderer.
Brain: Do you know Kat?
Jennie: Yes.
Brain: Have you ever met Kat?
Jennie: . . . no.
Brain: I rest my case.
Jennie: What case? That's a terrible case.
Brain: I know. OK, so you probably won't get axe murdered.
Jennie: Thank you.
Brain: But it could be awkward, which is almost as bad.
Jennie: True. But there will be drinks.
Brain: Wow, you're right. Do it.
Jennie: OK.
That is essentially exactly the way it happened. So, Monday night, after a handful of text messages, my friend Tori (not Spelling) and I went to meet Ferdinand and his friend Magellan. Please do not tell me how weird it sounds that I went and met a complete stranger who happens to be friends with someone I met through a blog, dear Internets. I've tried explaining it both out loud and in my head and it is never met with the response, "oh, that sounds like a perfectly logical and rational thing to do," but I DID IT ANYWAY. Because that's how I roll.
So, anyway, Tori and I went to meet them at Cadillac Jack's, which is where we went a few weeks ago when I pretended to be a stewardess. Again, because that's how I roll. And I was pleasantly surprised when things were not awkward, unless you count our waitress who didn't blink. She was either a robot or high and I'm leaning toward the former. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised again last night when coffee wasn't awkward either, unless you count the part where we got caught spying on security guards arresting some guy in Cold Stone Creamery. Like, what do you have to do to get arrested at a Cold Stone? Anyway, as it turns out, it's pretty stupid to drink coffee at 9 o'clock at night when you have to get up at 5:30 the next morning, but at least I wasn't the only one with insomnia.
And those, dear Internets, are the only details you get.
Jennie: Well, Brain, what should I do?
Brain: I'm tired.
Jennie: I don't care.
Brain: Lemme alone.
Jennie: BRAIN, WAKE UP.
Brain: OK, OK.
Jennie: What should I do?
Brain: Just do it.
Jennie: Do you even know what I'm talking about?
Brain: No.
Jennie: Sigh.
Brain: OK, fine. Here are your options. Do it. Don't do it.
Jennie: Hmm, sounds simple enough.
Brain: If you do it, you might get axe murdered.
Jennie: I hardly think Kat's friend is an axe murderer.
Brain: Do you know Kat?
Jennie: Yes.
Brain: Have you ever met Kat?
Jennie: . . . no.
Brain: I rest my case.
Jennie: What case? That's a terrible case.
Brain: I know. OK, so you probably won't get axe murdered.
Jennie: Thank you.
Brain: But it could be awkward, which is almost as bad.
Jennie: True. But there will be drinks.
Brain: Wow, you're right. Do it.
Jennie: OK.
That is essentially exactly the way it happened. So, Monday night, after a handful of text messages, my friend Tori (not Spelling) and I went to meet Ferdinand and his friend Magellan. Please do not tell me how weird it sounds that I went and met a complete stranger who happens to be friends with someone I met through a blog, dear Internets. I've tried explaining it both out loud and in my head and it is never met with the response, "oh, that sounds like a perfectly logical and rational thing to do," but I DID IT ANYWAY. Because that's how I roll.
So, anyway, Tori and I went to meet them at Cadillac Jack's, which is where we went a few weeks ago when I pretended to be a stewardess. Again, because that's how I roll. And I was pleasantly surprised when things were not awkward, unless you count our waitress who didn't blink. She was either a robot or high and I'm leaning toward the former. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised again last night when coffee wasn't awkward either, unless you count the part where we got caught spying on security guards arresting some guy in Cold Stone Creamery. Like, what do you have to do to get arrested at a Cold Stone? Anyway, as it turns out, it's pretty stupid to drink coffee at 9 o'clock at night when you have to get up at 5:30 the next morning, but at least I wasn't the only one with insomnia.
And those, dear Internets, are the only details you get.
Monday, December 11, 2006
So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?
I have come to the conclusion that I need to stop watching so much TV. You would not believe the amount of random TV quotes that come out of my mouth at any given time FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER, other than that quoting The Office makes me laugh and my one goal in life is to keep myself entertained at all times and if that means I have to randomly yell things like "Yankee SWAP!" then SO BE IT. Ahem.
I just had one friend describe a date as, "remember that one Sex and The City episode blah blah blah" and I was all, "of COURSE I remember that episode, who DOESN'T?" except a lot of people don't remember that episode. Because they have lives. Also, Heidi and I have decided that Lifetime movies have completely destroyed our trust and faith in humanity. We spent the greater part of the morning outlining the TV movie of my life, in which I am kidnapped and kept in a hole in the ground before I am sold into white slavery. Heidi would like to be played by Reese Witherspoon (who, fresh off her Oscar win, I'm sure, is dying to do a Lifetime movie) but when she suggested my part be played by Valerie Bertinelli, I reminded her that, while Valerie Bertinelli is an important staple in the Lifetime movie oeuvre she is like . . . fifty. And I am not. I told her that she at least had to give me Shannon Doherty (crooked eye and all) but she told me that in order for Shannon to play me, I'd need to develop some sort of crystal meth addiction. Which I don't really want to do because it sounds both messy and expensive. Actually, maybe Heidi and I both should lay off The TV for a while.
I just had one friend describe a date as, "remember that one Sex and The City episode blah blah blah" and I was all, "of COURSE I remember that episode, who DOESN'T?" except a lot of people don't remember that episode. Because they have lives. Also, Heidi and I have decided that Lifetime movies have completely destroyed our trust and faith in humanity. We spent the greater part of the morning outlining the TV movie of my life, in which I am kidnapped and kept in a hole in the ground before I am sold into white slavery. Heidi would like to be played by Reese Witherspoon (who, fresh off her Oscar win, I'm sure, is dying to do a Lifetime movie) but when she suggested my part be played by Valerie Bertinelli, I reminded her that, while Valerie Bertinelli is an important staple in the Lifetime movie oeuvre she is like . . . fifty. And I am not. I told her that she at least had to give me Shannon Doherty (crooked eye and all) but she told me that in order for Shannon to play me, I'd need to develop some sort of crystal meth addiction. Which I don't really want to do because it sounds both messy and expensive. Actually, maybe Heidi and I both should lay off The TV for a while.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
take my hand and we'll make it I swear
I did some Christmas shopping today. OK, I went to one store. That's as far as I could go before I had to repeatedly stomp down the urge to punch someone in the face. So. Yeah. One store down, two gifts down. At this rate I should be done by Valentine's Day.
My friends and I are doing a gift exchange next weekend, so I was mainly looking for a gift for that. I bought something completely frivolous that was really funny at the time but now I realize that it is useless. It's a rug. With Twister on it. Which, I can see getting some use out of this at a party somewhere down the road, but my friends and I tend to go a little ADD when we drink so I don't think spending [insert max amount allowed to spend here] dollars on ten minutes of fun is really worth it, you know? I kind of want to keep it, though. You know. For Twister emergencies. But, ok, here's my problem now . . . I don't know what to get. I need a unisex gift for under twenty dollars. It's the unisex part that's throwing me off. I've found plenty of awesome gifts for those with guy OR girl parts, but none that will work for both. Or something. I don't know.
Last night, I was in Columbus with a stop in BFE to meet Steve. It was fun. Fun, fun, fun. Shouting of Bon Jovi lyrics was involved, which could explain the Kathleen Turner voice I'm sporting today. Hot. And now, I bring you (because I'm too tired to come up with anything original) Conversations With My Best Friend Mary Because Heidi Deserves a Break:
Mary: Hello?
Me: Heeeeeey!
Mary: Hi!
Me: You answered!
Mary: I did. So what's up?
Me: Well, I'm on my way back from Steve's and I'm driving around out in the country.
Mary: Ooookaaaaay.
Me: I think I'm probably going to get lost*. I drove there in the dark last night and wasn't really paying attention and now everything looks different.
Mary: That sucks.
Me: I know. Also, it's the country and none of the roads have names that I can see.
Mary: Why didn't you ask Steve for directions before you left?
Me: Because I didn't want him to think I'm retarded!
Mary: Um, I think it's too late for that.
Me: Thanks.
Mary: No problem.
Me: You're probably right, though.
Mary: See?
*I did not
My friends and I are doing a gift exchange next weekend, so I was mainly looking for a gift for that. I bought something completely frivolous that was really funny at the time but now I realize that it is useless. It's a rug. With Twister on it. Which, I can see getting some use out of this at a party somewhere down the road, but my friends and I tend to go a little ADD when we drink so I don't think spending [insert max amount allowed to spend here] dollars on ten minutes of fun is really worth it, you know? I kind of want to keep it, though. You know. For Twister emergencies. But, ok, here's my problem now . . . I don't know what to get. I need a unisex gift for under twenty dollars. It's the unisex part that's throwing me off. I've found plenty of awesome gifts for those with guy OR girl parts, but none that will work for both. Or something. I don't know.
Last night, I was in Columbus with a stop in BFE to meet Steve. It was fun. Fun, fun, fun. Shouting of Bon Jovi lyrics was involved, which could explain the Kathleen Turner voice I'm sporting today. Hot. And now, I bring you (because I'm too tired to come up with anything original) Conversations With My Best Friend Mary Because Heidi Deserves a Break:
Mary: Hello?
Me: Heeeeeey!
Mary: Hi!
Me: You answered!
Mary: I did. So what's up?
Me: Well, I'm on my way back from Steve's and I'm driving around out in the country.
Mary: Ooookaaaaay.
Me: I think I'm probably going to get lost*. I drove there in the dark last night and wasn't really paying attention and now everything looks different.
Mary: That sucks.
Me: I know. Also, it's the country and none of the roads have names that I can see.
Mary: Why didn't you ask Steve for directions before you left?
Me: Because I didn't want him to think I'm retarded!
Mary: Um, I think it's too late for that.
Me: Thanks.
Mary: No problem.
Me: You're probably right, though.
Mary: See?
*I did not
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
It's vodka, you know. It goes bad once it's opened.
I would like you to meet my new best friend, Tiny Carton of Wine, little sister of Wine In a Bag In a Box and white trash cousin of Bottle of Wine:
I was at Kroger earlier buying something for dinner and I really wanted a glass (or two) of wine because it has been a long, hard week and it's not even over yet. Not fair! I didn't want to buy an entire bottle, though, because I was by myself and god knows if you open a bottle of wine by yourself one of two things happens. ONE, you only drink a couple glasses and a week later end up throwing the rest of it away because it tastes like toilet cleaner (I'm assuming) or TWO, you finish it all. Since I have to work tomorrow, TWO wasn't an option and the thought of dumping alcohol down the kitchen sink filled me with terror and seething rage because that goes against EVERYTHING I STAND FOR. So, you see? Tiny White Trash Cousin of Bottle of Wine is perfect. Drink what you want and screw the lid back on for later. It would probably even fit in my purse not that I would do that I'M JUST SAYING it would probably fit. The end.
You may notice some items of interest (?) in the background of this picture. THOSE ITEMS BEING the picture of Dora the Explorer made for me by a patient (yeah), our cheapo Target Napoleon Dynamite refridgerator pieces of crap, and OK that's really it unless you're interested in the chip clip. Although, I don't know why you would be. It's not like the chip clip has been on some grand adventure like the toaster. Brave Little Toaster? Anyone? Oh, COME ON!
I was at Kroger earlier buying something for dinner and I really wanted a glass (or two) of wine because it has been a long, hard week and it's not even over yet. Not fair! I didn't want to buy an entire bottle, though, because I was by myself and god knows if you open a bottle of wine by yourself one of two things happens. ONE, you only drink a couple glasses and a week later end up throwing the rest of it away because it tastes like toilet cleaner (I'm assuming) or TWO, you finish it all. Since I have to work tomorrow, TWO wasn't an option and the thought of dumping alcohol down the kitchen sink filled me with terror and seething rage because that goes against EVERYTHING I STAND FOR. So, you see? Tiny White Trash Cousin of Bottle of Wine is perfect. Drink what you want and screw the lid back on for later. It would probably even fit in my purse not that I would do that I'M JUST SAYING it would probably fit. The end.You may notice some items of interest (?) in the background of this picture. THOSE ITEMS BEING the picture of Dora the Explorer made for me by a patient (yeah), our cheapo Target Napoleon Dynamite refridgerator pieces of crap, and OK that's really it unless you're interested in the chip clip. Although, I don't know why you would be. It's not like the chip clip has been on some grand adventure like the toaster. Brave Little Toaster? Anyone? Oh, COME ON!
Dewey, you fool! Your decimal system has played right into my hands!
This morning, as I dragged myself out of bed, I was oh so relieved that I'd set my alarm to go off early so I'd have time to sit in my freezing car and let it defrost without worrying that I'd be late for work. And when I say "dragged myself out of bed," that is exactly what I mean, because this morning was rough. So rough, in fact, that when I looked at myself in the mirror I screamed and ran away because I was SURE a zombie was staring back at me all "brains brains hungry hungry BRAAAAAIIIIIIINS!" and if you want to wake up fast? A zombie lusting for your brains first thing in the morning will do the trick. Trust. Me.
Anyway, as I showered, calmly and without forgetting an important step like conditioning my hair, I thought, "Haha! I will not be running late this morning for I have beaten the system with a clever ruse of SETTING MY ALARM CLOCK for a time which will allow me ample time to get ready! So smart, am I!" The Universe, however, had other plans. I was too cocky. And The Universe loves nothing more than to smack a cocky bitch down. Trust. Me.
After my shower, I had to venture out to the kitchen to make sure my coffeepot hadn't shut itself off again. Yes, it is still doing that. No, I have not gotten a new one because I have it on good authority that I will be getting one from Christmas. If I'm still on Santa's Nice List which, let's face it, is iffy at best. Trust. Me.
So, as I'm walking back from the kitchen (FYI, coffeepot had turned self off), I notice something strange on the ottoman. Cat vomit! At first I thought it was poo, because of how long and skinny it was (sorry) but on closer inspection it was definitely vomit. I'd just like to take this moment to thank Phoebe AND The Universe for making me late this morning because you can't just LEAVE cat vomit on something and clean it up later. So that is why I spent part of my very important, VERY limited, getting-ready-time running around the apartment in my bra and underwear (don't worry, Heidi wasn't home), trying to find the Magical Pet Stain Remover Spray because it's never in the same spot and then soaking up a pleasant mixture of stain remover and cat vomit from the ottoman. There's a shitload of carpet she could have puked on (she's done it before, I know she knows it's there) and yet . . . she picks the ottoman. Thanks a lot, Cat. I wanted nothing more than to start my day with The Cat Vomit Surprise. Just know, though, that I plan on paying you back by torturing you with the vacuum cleaner and a vocal impression of the bagpipes, both of which fill you with ears-back-tail-poofed-running-for-the-hills terror. Oh, it'll be so fun.
Trust. Me.
Anyway, as I showered, calmly and without forgetting an important step like conditioning my hair, I thought, "Haha! I will not be running late this morning for I have beaten the system with a clever ruse of SETTING MY ALARM CLOCK for a time which will allow me ample time to get ready! So smart, am I!" The Universe, however, had other plans. I was too cocky. And The Universe loves nothing more than to smack a cocky bitch down. Trust. Me.
After my shower, I had to venture out to the kitchen to make sure my coffeepot hadn't shut itself off again. Yes, it is still doing that. No, I have not gotten a new one because I have it on good authority that I will be getting one from Christmas. If I'm still on Santa's Nice List which, let's face it, is iffy at best. Trust. Me.
So, as I'm walking back from the kitchen (FYI, coffeepot had turned self off), I notice something strange on the ottoman. Cat vomit! At first I thought it was poo, because of how long and skinny it was (sorry) but on closer inspection it was definitely vomit. I'd just like to take this moment to thank Phoebe AND The Universe for making me late this morning because you can't just LEAVE cat vomit on something and clean it up later. So that is why I spent part of my very important, VERY limited, getting-ready-time running around the apartment in my bra and underwear (don't worry, Heidi wasn't home), trying to find the Magical Pet Stain Remover Spray because it's never in the same spot and then soaking up a pleasant mixture of stain remover and cat vomit from the ottoman. There's a shitload of carpet she could have puked on (she's done it before, I know she knows it's there) and yet . . . she picks the ottoman. Thanks a lot, Cat. I wanted nothing more than to start my day with The Cat Vomit Surprise. Just know, though, that I plan on paying you back by torturing you with the vacuum cleaner and a vocal impression of the bagpipes, both of which fill you with ears-back-tail-poofed-running-for-the-hills terror. Oh, it'll be so fun.
Trust. Me.
Does anyone else think Ed Helms is sort of hot? Just me? OK, awesome.
I promise a real post is coming. Until then . . . Ed Helms! Special Appearance! Daily Show! Jon Stewart! Weeeeeeeeeeee!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
so much easier than writing a real post
This makes me happy and a little sad all at the same time. Which is not good for my cold, dead heart.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Bueller?
You know, there was a moment today, when I was wandering around our office parking lot carrying a small, white Jack Russell that I actually wondered if I had fallen asleep at my desk and was now dreaming. I wasn't though. His name was Buckshot.
It was a long, weird day and I know it's only seven o'clock but I'm seriously considering going straight to bed.
It was a long, weird day and I know it's only seven o'clock but I'm seriously considering going straight to bed.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Tuesday Confessions*
- I had the day off work yesterday and the only productive thing I did (if you can call it that) was read an entire book
- I put my underwear on backwards in my morning rush to get out the door, if not on time, then merely five minutes late, and had to fix it in the bathroom at work
- I'm blaming it on the fact that I'm wearing new underwear today
- Also, I slept like shit last night and am tired
- Really, it's Victoria's Secret's fault for putting the tag info (if there were an actual tag, rather than, you know, just writing) on the front instead of the back. WTF, Vicky?
- I had impure thoughts about John Krasinski
- And Jake Gyllenhaal
- Also, a patient's dad (I know!)
- Maybe even you
- Heidi called me a Pervert McNasty
- She's probably right
- A Britney Spears song came on the radio during my ride home from work and NOT ONLY did I not change it, I sang along loudly and exuberantly and with hand motions
- An unbelievably slow car caused me to miss a light and made me really angry and I believe my exact words were, "fuck me fuck me fuck fuck fuck" . . . such a lady
- I went to the bathroom today, not because I had to pee, but because a song I like came on the radio and you can hear the radio the best inside the bathroom (I don't know why)
- I've not sent one Christmas card yet (sorry!)
So, all in all, a pretty typical day.
*blatantly ripped off from Heather Anne's Confession Monday because I am both Lazy and Unmotivated
Monday, December 04, 2006
Because, if Santa and the Holiday Armadillo stay in the same room for too long . . . the universe will . . . implode!
Sometimes I have a hard time keeping my Inner Bitch quiet. I find that the naughty thoughts are the first to pop into my head and then my Inner Angel has to beat the crap out of my Inner Bitch until she shuts up and that makes my Inner Angel kind of naughty, you know? It's a vicious cycle.
In an effort to be a gentler, kinder, less sarcastic Jennie, I helped Heidi decorate the apartment for Christmas. I say "helped Heidi," because all of the decorations were hers and left to my own devices I don't decorate at all. Last year, I hung up one ornament that I got as a present, and I didn't hang THAT up until after Christmas Day and also the only reason I hung it up at all was because it looked like a tiny bottle of wine and actually wasn't very Christmasy at all which is probably why I liked it so much. Whew. True story. I have to admit, though, our nicely decorated apartment has made me much less Grinchy because once we were done and the lights were all plugged in I couldn't stop exclaiming, "Ooh, look how pretty!" but again . . . that could just be because of the shiny lights. See:
Phoebe seems to be happy with the new developments in our apartment, except she keeps trying to eat the (fake) tree so I had to introduce her to Mr. Spray Bottle. She's not a fan. I don't care.
Totally off topic now. I decided a while ago that I was going to try and let my hair get long again, since it's been fairly short since sophomore year of college and I needed a project. Also, a reformed crack addict told me I looked like Dora the Explorer. I'm happy to report that, except for a few stubborn strands, I can now get all of my hair into a ponytail. A very short, stubby ponytail, but a ponytail nonetheless.
Earlier, trying some more to shove my Grinch more firmly in the closet, I decided to turn on some Christmas music (I feel I should take this opportunity to tell you I have the day off and I'm at home, not at work). After reading Heather Anne today, I especially wanted to hear a certain Christmas song. And, obviously, Santa or the Baby Jesus or SOMEONE doesn't want me to be a Grinch this year because that song was the first one I heard, allowing me to dance vigorously around the apartment faux-singing into my microphone (lint brush) and hoping the neighbors downstairs were both at work.
And in case you're wondering? My phony-tail does not hold up to vigorous dancing. Good to know.
In an effort to be a gentler, kinder, less sarcastic Jennie, I helped Heidi decorate the apartment for Christmas. I say "helped Heidi," because all of the decorations were hers and left to my own devices I don't decorate at all. Last year, I hung up one ornament that I got as a present, and I didn't hang THAT up until after Christmas Day and also the only reason I hung it up at all was because it looked like a tiny bottle of wine and actually wasn't very Christmasy at all which is probably why I liked it so much. Whew. True story. I have to admit, though, our nicely decorated apartment has made me much less Grinchy because once we were done and the lights were all plugged in I couldn't stop exclaiming, "Ooh, look how pretty!" but again . . . that could just be because of the shiny lights. See:
Phoebe seems to be happy with the new developments in our apartment, except she keeps trying to eat the (fake) tree so I had to introduce her to Mr. Spray Bottle. She's not a fan. I don't care.
Totally off topic now. I decided a while ago that I was going to try and let my hair get long again, since it's been fairly short since sophomore year of college and I needed a project. Also, a reformed crack addict told me I looked like Dora the Explorer. I'm happy to report that, except for a few stubborn strands, I can now get all of my hair into a ponytail. A very short, stubby ponytail, but a ponytail nonetheless.
Earlier, trying some more to shove my Grinch more firmly in the closet, I decided to turn on some Christmas music (I feel I should take this opportunity to tell you I have the day off and I'm at home, not at work). After reading Heather Anne today, I especially wanted to hear a certain Christmas song. And, obviously, Santa or the Baby Jesus or SOMEONE doesn't want me to be a Grinch this year because that song was the first one I heard, allowing me to dance vigorously around the apartment faux-singing into my microphone (lint brush) and hoping the neighbors downstairs were both at work.
And in case you're wondering? My phony-tail does not hold up to vigorous dancing. Good to know.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Let's be from Vermont. And let's have an emerging maple syrup conglomerate.
Last night, I forgot the cardinal rule of sports bars: Do not, I repeat DO NOT, make eye contact with anyone of the opposite gender if you wish to remain unhitupon. After going to see a (free) play with Heidi and two of her previous coworkers, we decided to stop for a drink but we didn't want to stay downtown because A) we didn't want our cars broken into and B) we weren't in the mood to get assraped.
So we went to some place called Cadillac Jack's, where we could NOT ONLY get a drink or two (ok or three), but we could also partake in some cheese fries or chicken wings or the like as well as some girly conversation (boys, bras, bajengas, etc). WHICH WE DID.
OK, now. Men, I have a question. Or two. Not sure yet. Where did you learn to hit on women? I mostly mean you, guy who shimmied past our table like a go-go dancer. I mean, I like the Counting Crows, too, but it's not really a shake your tailfeather kind of song. It was a little weird, is what I'm saying. Also, Guy Who is Getting Married in 2008 . . . I get that you were playing wingman for your friends. I get that it was my fault that you approached our table. After all, I made eye contact. We thought we were rid of you and your friends, too, but then you decided to sit at the table behind us and lean into our conversation, each time putting your arms around Bree and Tamara, both of whom had their backs to you so you're lucky they didn't elbow you in the face in fright.
Guy: So what do you guys do?
Bree: I'm a social worker.
Tamara: I interview drug addicts.
Jennie's Brain: Your job is boring. Lie.
Me: I'm a stewardess.
Guy: Oh, really?
Me: Well, flight attendant would be more politically correct, I guess.
Guy: So, you like serve people coffee and water and stuff?
Me: Yes, that is an important part of my job.
Guy: Cool.
Me: Yeah, and it's really hard to do in high heels.
Guy: And turbulence.
Me: Right.
Guy: OK, then.
Then he left us alone! Ok, only for a couple minutes but a very nice couple of minutes. This was the first time I'd met Bree and Tamara, and I'd already told them I work for an orthodontist, so they were a bit confused.
Bree: Wait, are you really a stewardess?
Me: Haha, no.
Bree: Oh, god, ok. I didn't think so.
Tamara: I was gonna say, you'd be pretty busy.
Bree: I wish I could just make shit up like that.
Me: It is a gift.
Tamara: So what airline do you fly?
Me: Delta.
Heidi: Where's your home base?
Me: Cincinnati.
Heidi: How did September 11th make you feel, being a stewardess?
Me: Well, I was still in stewardess college at the time.
Bree: You had to go to stewardess college?
Me: Of course. It's tough, too. Very competitive.
Heidi: Have you ever had Paris Hilton on a flight, flashing her vajayjay everywhere?
Me: No, those flights? The ones from like LA or New York or international flights? You have to work your way up to those and I'm not there yet. Obviously, I'm still stuck in Cincinnati.
Bree: Wow. I don't know how you're doing this. If I tried to lie I'd be all "Um, I . . . um, hahaha!"
Me: Hmm. You could be a Bavarian Chocolate Specialist.
Bree: Oh my god.
I think I'm totally ready to be a professional wedding crasher. What kind of dental do you get with that, I wonder.
So we went to some place called Cadillac Jack's, where we could NOT ONLY get a drink or two (ok or three), but we could also partake in some cheese fries or chicken wings or the like as well as some girly conversation (boys, bras, bajengas, etc). WHICH WE DID.
OK, now. Men, I have a question. Or two. Not sure yet. Where did you learn to hit on women? I mostly mean you, guy who shimmied past our table like a go-go dancer. I mean, I like the Counting Crows, too, but it's not really a shake your tailfeather kind of song. It was a little weird, is what I'm saying. Also, Guy Who is Getting Married in 2008 . . . I get that you were playing wingman for your friends. I get that it was my fault that you approached our table. After all, I made eye contact. We thought we were rid of you and your friends, too, but then you decided to sit at the table behind us and lean into our conversation, each time putting your arms around Bree and Tamara, both of whom had their backs to you so you're lucky they didn't elbow you in the face in fright.
Guy: So what do you guys do?
Bree: I'm a social worker.
Tamara: I interview drug addicts.
Jennie's Brain: Your job is boring. Lie.
Me: I'm a stewardess.
Guy: Oh, really?
Me: Well, flight attendant would be more politically correct, I guess.
Guy: So, you like serve people coffee and water and stuff?
Me: Yes, that is an important part of my job.
Guy: Cool.
Me: Yeah, and it's really hard to do in high heels.
Guy: And turbulence.
Me: Right.
Guy: OK, then.
Then he left us alone! Ok, only for a couple minutes but a very nice couple of minutes. This was the first time I'd met Bree and Tamara, and I'd already told them I work for an orthodontist, so they were a bit confused.
Bree: Wait, are you really a stewardess?
Me: Haha, no.
Bree: Oh, god, ok. I didn't think so.
Tamara: I was gonna say, you'd be pretty busy.
Bree: I wish I could just make shit up like that.
Me: It is a gift.
Tamara: So what airline do you fly?
Me: Delta.
Heidi: Where's your home base?
Me: Cincinnati.
Heidi: How did September 11th make you feel, being a stewardess?
Me: Well, I was still in stewardess college at the time.
Bree: You had to go to stewardess college?
Me: Of course. It's tough, too. Very competitive.
Heidi: Have you ever had Paris Hilton on a flight, flashing her vajayjay everywhere?
Me: No, those flights? The ones from like LA or New York or international flights? You have to work your way up to those and I'm not there yet. Obviously, I'm still stuck in Cincinnati.
Bree: Wow. I don't know how you're doing this. If I tried to lie I'd be all "Um, I . . . um, hahaha!"
Me: Hmm. You could be a Bavarian Chocolate Specialist.
Bree: Oh my god.
I think I'm totally ready to be a professional wedding crasher. What kind of dental do you get with that, I wonder.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Hands, touching hands, reaching out, touching me, touching yoooooouuuu!
I don't know why, but the song "Sweet Caroline" fills me with pure, unadulterated joy each and every time I hear it. It could be that the lyrics are vaguely dirty, but I don't think that's it. Whatever it is, that song reduces me to a swaying, shouting lunatic in a way that only Tina Turner's "Proud Mary," Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'," (shut up) and Kelly Clarkson's "A Moment Like This" (shut up more and also suck it) can usually accomplish.
Dear Internets, what (embarrassing) songs give you that joy, joy, joy, joy down in your heart*?
*where?
Dear Internets, what (embarrassing) songs give you that joy, joy, joy, joy down in your heart*?
*where?
The worst thing about prison was the Dementors. They were flying all over the place, and they were scary.
What is it about strange weather that renders people incapable of talking about anything but? I'm not saying I'm exempt because there is a wind advisory right now (seriously? wind? that is SO the redheaded stepchild of the weather advisory world) and every time the wind blows all I can think to say to anyone is, "wow, it is really windy outside." CLEVER.
I suppose I could tell you how windy it is. It is so windy that it made it hard to drive this morning. No good? OK. It's so windy that when the wind blew the rain onto my windshield it reminded me of being in the dry cycle of a car wash. Still no good. It's so windy that I had visions of a swinging traffic light coming loose from the line and almost dropping onto the hood of my car, but then Superman came and caught it. Better. How's this. It's so windy that when I got out of the car with my umbrella, a gust of wind caught it and carried me Mary Poppins style over to jolly old England, where I met some chimney sweeps and then we all jumped into a chalk drawing on the sidewalk to live happily ever after. Best, but that's a total lie. Sorry.
Things that are true? I have been walking around for the past hour with my fly down. I haven't been able to get the song "Rainbow Connection" out of my head ever since watching The Office last night. I had applesauce, a cookie, and coffee for breakfast. I used a different perfume today and can't stop smelling myself. I smell really good right now. I wish I was anywhere but where I am at this moment. I hope it snows buckets tonight. I will regret saying that if it does. I have to pee. Dementors ARE scary. Oh. And it's really, really, really goddamn windy outside.
I suppose I could tell you how windy it is. It is so windy that it made it hard to drive this morning. No good? OK. It's so windy that when the wind blew the rain onto my windshield it reminded me of being in the dry cycle of a car wash. Still no good. It's so windy that I had visions of a swinging traffic light coming loose from the line and almost dropping onto the hood of my car, but then Superman came and caught it. Better. How's this. It's so windy that when I got out of the car with my umbrella, a gust of wind caught it and carried me Mary Poppins style over to jolly old England, where I met some chimney sweeps and then we all jumped into a chalk drawing on the sidewalk to live happily ever after. Best, but that's a total lie. Sorry.
Things that are true? I have been walking around for the past hour with my fly down. I haven't been able to get the song "Rainbow Connection" out of my head ever since watching The Office last night. I had applesauce, a cookie, and coffee for breakfast. I used a different perfume today and can't stop smelling myself. I smell really good right now. I wish I was anywhere but where I am at this moment. I hope it snows buckets tonight. I will regret saying that if it does. I have to pee. Dementors ARE scary. Oh. And it's really, really, really goddamn windy outside.
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